


Where Shadows Lie

by eyeus



Series: In The Land of Midgard [1]
Category: The Avengers (2012), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Post-Avengers (2012), Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Alternate Universe - Zombies, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Established Relationship, Handwavy Science, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pseudo-Incest, Thorki Zombie AU, Violence, Zombie Apocalypse, Zombies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-06
Updated: 2014-02-21
Packaged: 2018-01-11 10:52:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 30,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1172184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eyeus/pseuds/eyeus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“We could call the enemy ‘Walkers’,” offers Bruce. “Like they do on <i>The Walking Dead</i>.” </p><p>Thor thinks they should be called Shamblers or Stumblers instead, but keeps his silence. His teammates might take offense to their iconic television show being referred to as <i>The Stumbling Dead</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Zombie AU. Written to sate my desire for Thor/Loki-centric apocalyptic fiction. Title from Tolkien’s Ring verse.

~

It starts with whispers; rumours on the wind.

Thor hears different versions of the same story, from the other Avengers to the SHIELD agents that bustle in and out of the Avengers tower. Their whispers share a common theme: words such as _contagion_ and _quarantine_ make their way through the ranks, while others such as _swift_ and _death_ follow close behind.

From what Thor can gather, an outbreak of a new pathogen has begun to devastate Midgard’s population, and at an alarming rate, judging from Director Fury’s frequent messages, like “Boston and Philadelphia gone” and “Brooklyn and Queens dark”. He takes those later messages to mean that certain areas of New York are already lost, and suspects that this is why whole sections of the city have been cordoned off, the borders of which are—oddly enough—guarded by rows of police officers with protective shields and batons. 

Other teams of heroes have been sent to the frontlines to scout the situation and quell the panic, though news on their progress and the outbreak itself is painfully scarce. It is only a matter of time before the Avengers are called to the forefront.

It is this desperation that brings Fury to the Avengers tower today, Thor surmises, though his true purpose here remains a mystery, as he meets with Loki alone in one of the various debriefing rooms. From outside the glass enclosure, Thor picks up words like _patient zero_ and _outbreak_ and _remote bunker_. He frowns; if Fury intends to send Loki in alone, Thor will be unable to protect Loki from afar. 

“—need you to investigate this while the contamination area is still small and controlled,” Fury says now. His back is to Thor as Thor bullies his way past the armed agents and slips into the debriefing room. “We’ve lost communications with the SHIELD bunker there, so after you find out what’s going on in the civilian area, connect with the agents at the bunker and check in with us there. Depending what you find there, you may have to…” Fury trails off, looking troubled.

Thor thinks that the outbreak, possibly a pandemic by now, can hardly be called “small and controlled”. Not if whole areas of New York, not to mention other major cities, have already been lost. Fury is downplaying this too much for it to be a routine mission.

“Yes? What are you asking me to do _then_?” Loki asks. He inspects his fingernails, seemingly bored, but his nonchalance does not fool Thor; he doesn’t miss the way Loki is a touch paler than usual.

“I’m asking, what are you _prepared_ to do?” Fury replies. His hands, folded together over the table, clench almost imperceptibly. From that alone, Thor knows Fury _needs_ Loki for this mission. No one else will do, which means the mission is either extremely difficult, or sure to end in certain death for anyone else but Loki.

It’s this, the constant test of Loki’s loyalties, that irks Thor. As if Loki has not already risked his life on countless missions for SHIELD, missions that none of Thor’s mortal friends would even return from. He wonders, on occasion, if SHIELD’s aim is to give his brother a chance at redemption for his desolation of New York not two years ago, or to exploit him until he outlives his usefulness.

Loki flicks the minutest glance at Thor, and studies the table for all of a heartbeat. “Anything,” he says, quiet. “I am prepared to do anything.”

“I shall go with him, of course,” Thor breaks in, striding up to the table where they hold this confidential conference. He ignores Loki’s withering glare; together, he and his brother are an unstoppable force, and SHIELD has no business keeping them apart. “Where is this bunker located?” 

Fury throws an equally vicious look at Thor for the interruption of their private conference. “That’s classified information,” he says, dismissive. 

When Thor opens his mouth in protest, his hands curled into fists on the table, Fury springs to his feet. “Thor, you’re needed _here_ ,” he says, his own hands gripping the table, tight. We need you to work with the other Avengers. To make sure the streets are safe, tamp down the rioting and panic.”

“I will not let my brother march into enemy territory alone,” Thor replies, adamant. He stares Fury down, his hand closing tight over Mjölnir’s haft. If they come to blows over this, so be it. 

“Thor,” Loki says quietly, touching Thor’s elbow, gentle, with the slightest twist of his wrist as he does so. A warning and placation both. As if to say _What is one more mission for these mortals, after all we have done already?_

Loki’s touch grounds him, and Thor nods his acquiescence to Loki only, sinking slowly into the chair beside him. It is only when Fury waves his hand subtly, a clear message of _stand down_ that Thor notices the agents outside the debriefing room with guns trained on him. The realization comes, belated, that had Loki not calmed him, they might have put Thor down like no more than a feral hound. 

Loki, for his part, seems not to have noticed the commotion around them. “I shall leave before sunrise tomorrow, with a team of my choosing,” he says. “Ensure that each of your agents is well-equipped before we depart; this will not be a lengthy investigation.” He rises from his seat, urging Thor to do the same, and herds Thor ahead of him with a hand at the small of his back. 

“Oh, and telling your men to stand down? An excellent choice,” Loki muses to Fury, who pauses in his note-taking to look up. Loki’s smile is sharp, his eyes tight with concealed anger. “Had your men attempted to _shoot my brother_ , they would have found the barrels of their guns blocked, thus backfiring on them.” Loki’s smile broadens. “Just something to consider, the next time you think to aim weapons at your allies.”

And with that, he sweeps Thor and himself from the room, leaving Fury in a state of utter consternation and bafflement.

~

“I cannot understand,” Loki says with a yawn, “why you insist on working with SHIELD.” He leans into the curve of Thor’s neck just as Thor curls an arm around Loki’s waist, and together, they swing their legs over the edge of the Avengers tower. “They are insufferable. Always so _quick_ to anger. And so eager to draw their weapons.” Loki glares up at him, the memory of SHIELD almost having executed Thor too fresh in their minds.

Thor does not know whether by ‘insufferable’, Loki refers to their stringent protocols, or the intensity of their paranoia, insisting upon never-ending clearance levels before divulging useful information, but frowns all the same. Had it not been for the Avengers themselves making a place for him and Loki here on Midgard, Thor would have cut ties with SHIELD long ago. His loyalty lies with his teammates, not with this shadowy organization that claims to do good while creating and amassing dangerous weaponry, much of it based on Asgard’s own armaments. 

As things stand now, he will not leave his friends in their time of need. And he will not leave Loki. Not when they have some semblance of a life here.

“You said this would not be a lengthy investigation,” Thor tries, steering the conversation onto a different track. He rests his head over Loki’s, where it has settled on Thor’s shoulder, and they watch the setting sun, its blood-red light shrouded by smoke. Columns of it rise, thick and dark, from areas fallen victim to infection or destroyed by localized air strikes. Several areas have been devastated by both, though Thor cannot yet place why that bothers him, leaving ruins burnt beyond recognition.

Their habit of watching the sun descend began when Thor told Loki of the splendor of Midgard’s setting sun, but now, with every night that passes, the city grows quieter, its once bright lights dimmer. As if something ominous lurks in the ever-growing shadows, a darkness that even the best of Midgard’s protective forces cannot keep at bay. 

Loki sighs, wary of the sound of distant gunfire. “I will either find what Fury expects me to, or I will not.” He pauses. “Though I _am_ curious about what he hopes I will discover. He mentioned the area may have been the source of the outbreak—perhaps I am searching for the first to be infected.” 

“In order to develop a cure?” Thor asks, hopeful. 

“Perhaps. Or to determine the trajectory of the disease in its first infected population.” When Loki speaks after another thoughtful pause, he sounds almost envious. “This disease—I can’t help but find it intriguing. Look at how quickly it has spread, decimating their population. Genius, really.”

Thor pales as he turns to Loki. “People have _died_.” A terrible thought occurs to him then. “Loki? Tell me this is not your doing. That you had no part in this.” They are long past the days when Thor would storm into Loki’s space with an accusatory _What have you done_ , would believe his brother guilty of wrongdoing, but still, Thor needs to ask, to hear the words, the reassurance, that Loki had no hand in this destruction. 

Loki waves a hand, dismissive. “What difference does it make? The humans already slaughter each other in droves, through war and crime and oceans of indifference. This, however—a silent killer, deadly, without need for weaponry or munitions—this is _brilliant_.”

“Loki, please,” Thor tries. He brushes the knuckles of his free hand against Loki’s. It is enough to know that they face this threat together, but if he were to discover that Loki had manufactured this threat—

“And if I had?” Loki snaps. “Would your heart be so easily swayed from me?” There is such venom in his voice that Thor thinks he can almost taste it: bitter, like the crushed seeds of Midgard’s imperfect apples. Loki twists away from Thor’s touch. “Perhaps at one time, I might have claimed this work as my own. But this is not my doing.”

Thor breathes out in a rush of relief; he will take Loki’s word to be true, for who else can he trust, if not his own brother? He curls his fingers loosely around Loki’s wrist in apology. It is a moment more before Loki allows Thor to wrap his arm back around Loki’s waist, and another before Thor can fully twine their hands together.

“How much,” Thor asks carefully, “can you tell me about what Fury has planned for you?”

“Nothing,” Loki replies acidly, before the corner of his mouth turns upward, sly. “Save that he plans to send me to a remote location to investigate the origin of the outbreak. We are then to connect with the SHIELD bunker nearby, regarding ‘defensive tactics’. Though what we must _defend_ ourselves against is…unclear.” Loki nearly stumbles over the words in his last line, a clear sign that he is troubled; Loki always anticipates his situations, but the secrecy surrounding this mission makes it the equivalent of walking in blind. 

“This location,” Thor presses. “Have you coordinates for this place? Even a name would do.”

“No. The details have not yet been revealed to me,” Loki says, irritated. “As such, you may not follow after me. Fury has covered his tracks well.”

Thor furrows his brow, thoughtful. “I wonder why he did not think to send our friend Tony. He would be more invulnerable by half, in his suit of iron. Or Bruce, even, in his alternate form.”

“I suggested them as well,” Loki says drily, “but was informed Stark would be of more use here, as well as _your_ friends Banner and Rogers. And—” Loki stops suddenly, and goes still in Thor’s arms. “Are you saying I cannot handle myself in that place?”

Thor tightens his arm around Loki’s waist before Loki can twist out of his hold, whether from hurt or misunderstanding. “That was not the intent behind my words,” he says mulishly, “and you know it.”

Loki snorts. “Surely this is not another of your misguided attempts at _worrying_ for me,” he says. By the upward tilt of his lips, Thor can tell that he has been instantly forgiven, however Loki may have interpreted his words. Loki stands, letting Thor’s fingers trail the length of his leg as he does so. “Come,” he says, holding his hand out to Thor. “There is hardly time enough as it is before I must leave. We should not spend it quarreling like old fishwives.”

There are a multitude of responses on Thor’s tongue: that he is grateful for Loki staying here on Midgard with him; that he knows the toll it takes on Loki to take on SHIELD’s unsavory missions, despite his status as a ‘consultant’, for the purpose of remaining close to Thor; and not least of which is that he does not mind quarreling like old fishwives, if it means they _can_ grow old together. 

He keeps these thoughts to himself, however; Loki would balk at the unbridled sentiment. 

Instead, Thor laughs, grasping the hand Loki offers to hoist himself up and twining his fingers through Loki’s. On their way back into the Avengers tower, he sneaks a kiss, impulsive, to the corner of Loki’s mouth. 

“Not _here_ ,” Loki hisses, clawing at the front of Thor’s shirt. The soft flannel barely gives way under Loki’s nails. “Stark has eyes and ears everywhere.”

Thor blinks. “Since when has that ever stopped us?”

The lightest pink flush suffuses Loki’s cheeks. It makes Thor want to kiss him even more, to lay kisses enough on each cheek that he might turn them apple-red and bright. “Since your friends accidentally enlightened me to their tally of our displays of affection,” Loki says. “Per _day_.” He mumbles something under his breath that sounds vaguely like _betting pool_.

“Well then,” Thor says, lifting a brow, “perhaps we should bet on ourselves and give them a run for their money.”

“Oh,” breathes Loki. “I had not thought of that.” His smile is mischievous now, infectious, and all kinds of impressed. 

Thor finds it difficult to believe that the thought has not crossed Loki’s mind—it is more than likely that Loki has just goaded him into more frequent displays of affection—but as Loki leans forward in reward at Thor’s ingenuity, his mouth sweetly open and inviting, Thor finds he does not mind at all.

Neither, he thinks, does the obviously placed surveillance camera nearby; it hums an interested mechanic _whirr_ and blinks its little red light, curious, just as Thor surges forward to meet Loki’s lips, to take the invitation for what it is.

~

“I want you to give me something,” Loki says later, sprawled along Thor’s side on their bed. He walks his fingers over Thor’s belly, feather-light and teasing. “Before I depart.”

Thor tracks the motion of Loki’s fingers, before Loki’s tongue, peeking through his lips, pink, distracts Thor’s attention. He darts in for a peck of a kiss, airy and quick; tastes a hint of strawberries and cream, a dessert they indulged in earlier. Loki laughs into his mouth, soft, when Thor sucks at his lower lip, thinking to draw blood enough to Loki’s lips to match the hue of those berries. “Yes. _Anything_ ,” Thor says.

They have spent most of the night trading only kisses between them, as Loki will need his strength for the days to come. But the way Loki’s fingers stroke the light hair over Thor’s belly, the tempting dip of them into his navel, makes Thor’s resolve falter. As if to further crumble his resolve, Loki’s shirt rides up his stomach, exposing a pale sliver of his flesh. Thor’s throat goes dry at the motion, and he slides his hand, helpless, into the space of exposed skin. Lets his fingers creep into the source of warmth, before they become greedy, for more skin, more warmth, tugging Loki’s shirt off and dropping it on the floor.

“Mmhn,” says Loki, thoughtful. As if he is seriously considering Thor’s offer. He leans in to press a trail of sweet, lingering kisses along Thor’s jaw. “I want you to give me Mjölnir.”

Thor arches a brow at the request, then glances at the uru weapon, propped against where wall and rug meet. “Loki, I _would_ , but can you even lift—”

“Your _other_ Mjölnir,” Loki says, stifling a laugh. He traces a finger, sly and teasing, along the underside of Thor’s cock. 

“But your mission—”

“Hush,” says Loki. They both know Thor’s protest is only a token one. “I want this.”

Thor nods and leans in to claim Loki’s mouth, pleased. Pushes further into Loki’s space to nuzzle his neck. “Then, my other Mjölnir I can _give_ ,” he murmurs, mouthing at the softness beneath Loki’s jaw. He smiles as the apple of Loki’s throat moves beneath his lips in an anticipatory swallow. 

It only takes a well-placed roll of Thor’s hips to have Loki moaning and arching into his touch, sprawling further along the bed as Thor cages him in with elbows and knees. When the bed protests their weight with a long, slow creak, Thor nearly laughs. Not for the first time, he is glad for their own floor in the Avengers tower, with its thicker flooring and reinforced walls; they allow him to ravish Loki as he likes, without fear of his teammates thumping at their door or wall, often with the whine “some of us are trying to _sleep_ ”, as they did before the restoration of the tower. 

“Turn over,” Thor commands, nudging at Loki’s shoulders and hips.

Loki huffs a sigh and wriggles onto his belly. “ _There_. Does that satisfy—” He breaks off into another, more pleased sigh as Thor sweeps back the hair at the nape of Loki’s neck, to touch his tongue to pale flesh. Licks a wet stripe over each shoulder blade and down the length of Loki’s back, taking the time to circle each knot of Loki’s spine with his tongue. Thor trails wet, open-mouthed kisses down the rest of Loki’s back until his tongue touches the cleft of Loki’s ass, and he pushes the cheeks of Loki’s buttocks apart to lap, gentle, at his hole. 

“ _Thor_ ,” Loki whispers, his voice bordering on a whine, needy and desperate. 

Thor can see where Loki has sunk his nails into the sheets, talons clutching the fine-woven silk, hard. He dips his tongue into Loki, experimental, relishing the gasps and sighs as Loki jerks in his grasp. Presses in just a bit further, licking up and _in_.

“Oh,” Loki breathes, in surprise and pleasure both. “Thor, please, I want—I _need_ —”

“Mmhn.” Thor nods his acquiescence into the small of Loki’s back and urges him onto his hands and knees. Lets the length of his cock slide against the cleft of Loki’s ass, bumping against the hole, pressing just outside the entrance, but never quite pushing _in_. 

“Don’t tease,” Loki pleads, and his expression when he turns to face Thor, the way he begs, is so sweet and imploring that Thor sighs, bracing his hands on Loki’s waist and pressing his cock in, slowly, careful, until his hips are flush against Loki’s. 

“Move, damn you,” Loki demands, now that he’s got Thor where he wants him. He rolls his hips into Thor’s, urging him to move, to press in deep and push in _hard_. 

“Yes. _Yes_ ,” breathes Thor. He slips out until the head of his cock sits just so inside Loki, before slamming back in, taking pleasure in the way Loki jerks forward, sudden, crying out as Thor pushes his bulk into him. Does it again and again until Loki is reduced to a babbling mess, undone so wholly by Thor, that he might now say anything, promise everything, just to have more. It’s then that the idea strikes Thor, _seizes_ him, and he hooks his hands over the jut of Loki’s hipbones, hiking him in close, pushing just that much deeper in. 

“Promise me,” Thor commands, “that you will return to me.” He thrusts his hips forward, sharp and unforgiving. “Whole.” Another thrust. “Hale.” He bears his full weight down on Loki until his cock is not only all the way in, but pressing hard on where that nub of sensitive flesh should be. “Unscathed.”

“Thor, please,” Loki gasps, and he’s clawing at the sheets now, clawing at Thor’s hips, his nails raking bloody trails into Thor’s skin. 

“ _Promise me_ ,” hisses Thor. “Or I shall not let you go.” And then he’s thrusting into Loki, over and over, hard and deep and fast, and only later does it occur to him, _desperate_. 

“Thor. _Thor_ —” Loki sobs. It’s a warning, that Thor is pushing into him so roughly that Loki can barely take it. His hands and knees give way to elbows and thighs, then not even those at all, as Loki collapses onto his stomach, lying spread out against the bed, his face shoved into the pillows he’s biting to muffle his cries. 

Thor eases back, slowing his pace just a fraction, but in exchange, he hikes Loki’s ass higher, the pads of his fingers digging into the dimples of Loki’s buttocks as he ploughs Loki into the mattress. He delivers sharp, stinging slaps to Loki’s ass, to feel the clench of Loki around him. Bites dark bruises into the base of Loki’s neck, down along the knots of his spine. His hands move from Loki’s hips, to twine tightly with Loki’s fingers where they already clench the pillows, and when Loki arches and shakes beneath him, breathing out in a choked gasps, as if _nngh_ and _ah_ are the only words he knows, Thor drives in with one last, brutal thrust, and buries his face in Loki’s neck, shaking as he floods Loki with his seed. 

“Loki,” he gasps brokenly. “Loki.”

Trapped beneath him, Loki groans. Tries to crawl away weakly, as if Thor is too hot, too much, has filled Loki far beyond measure. His own release stains the sheets beneath them, and while Thor feels a measure of pride at having made Loki come without touching his cock, there is regret the same, for not having noticed Loki’s release sooner.

Thor reaches out and drags Loki back in by the hips. Paints the reddened canvas of Loki’s buttocks with spools of come. Swirls his thumb in the mess of come along the cleft of Loki’s ass, gathering what has escaped, and presses it back into the pucker of Loki’s hole. 

“Keep it,” Thor growls. “Keep _all_ of it. Inside you.”

“I can’t—it’s too much,” Loki gasps, and his hole quivers, red and swollen, around Thor’s thumb.

“It’s not _enough_ ,” Thor whispers, fierce, the press of his fingers into Loki’s buttocks rough and insistent. 

If it were up to him, he would gorge Loki with his seed, drape what threads of come escape against his pale skin to show Loki how much he is _his_. If they had the time, he would convince Loki to shift into his Jötunn form, that he could lave his tongue along each ridge, line the arches and whorls of Loki’s Jötunn markings with beads of his essence, and lay his claim with every drop of his artistry.

He settles for brushing aside the sweaty curls clinging to Loki’s neck, and kissing the nape of his neck. Allows himself to lay his weight over Loki, careful, listening to the evening out of Loki’s breath. He slows his own respirations to match and memorize the steady rhythm of Loki’s; each breath lasts for three second intervals, each the sound of Loki being alive, warm, and safe.

Loki flops beneath him, impatient. “ _Off_ ,” he demands, pushing at Thor’s shoulders. Thor obeys, rolling partway off Loki’s back. Loki shifts his weight until Thor is draped over him once more, their chests and bellies pressed together. He curls his legs around Thor’s waist. “Now, _more_ ,” Loki says, rolling his hips up and into Thor. 

Thor takes Loki’s cue, rocking into the cradle of Loki’s hips as he captures Loki’s lower lip. Their kiss is all hunger and teeth and _want_ , and Thor bites down, ignoring Loki’s yelp of surprise, to lap at the tang of blood. Loki tastes like copper, like metal wrought into ice, a knife-edge between danger and delicacy stemming from the Jötunn birthright flowing through his veins. 

Loki nips Thor’s lip in return, vengeful, drawing his own share of blood. “We are the same,” he whispers, tongue flicking out, to taste. His grin is dark, wicked, with blood on teeth.

Thor grins back, all feral want and need, and reaches between them to encircle their cocks with his hand. There is enough come left to ease the friction, and Loki groans as Thor wraps his hand more tightly about them. Slides his palm along both their lengths, letting his thumb press into the heads of their cocks, his nail catching the sensitive slits. 

“Thor,” Loki breathes, his voice shaky. This time it is a whine. “So close—please, _please_.”

“No,” says Thor. “Not from this.” He releases his hold on their lengths, and without warning, presses back into Loki’s hole. It lets Thor in easily, the passage still slick with the come Loki has kept inside him. He lets the euphoria of Loki’s surprised, pleased expression wash over him, relishing each feature of Loki’s face in the green eyes wide with pleasure, the mouth mid-gasp, brow furrowed. Breathes in the heavy scent of them combined, before hitching both of Loki’s legs over one shoulder, and driving into him, hard, until Loki cries out in pain and pleasure both. 

“You have not given me your word,” Thor rasps. “You must return to me, Loki. No matter what.” He punctuates each sentence with a rough and brutal thrust that has Loki keening and arching into him, as if the strength of each thrust could force the promise he wants from Loki, could rip a response from Loki’s throat as it does the keening cries. 

“Must I?” Loki hisses between gasps. His customary jibe has lost its playful edge. Perhaps it is the gravity of the situation, or Thor’s absolute insistence in this. He must sense the desperation in Thor’s voice, or in the way Thor slams into him, possessive and afraid, because he clings to Thor now, curls his arms around Thor’s broad shoulders, trembling, his breath shuddering as he promises, “Yes, I—all _right_. No matter what, Thor.” 

“ _Promise_ me,” Thor growls, and Loki shifts his legs free to take that oath, surging forward to seal it with kisses, fierce and bruising, giving as good as he gets from Thor. He scatters his own line of bruising nips along the underside of Thor’s jaw, another along the column of his neck. Each one leaves a spot of crimson, courtesy of Loki’s lip, bitten bloody from the force of their coupling, and bitten open by Thor himself. 

“I _have_ promised,” Loki snarls. “Now then, is this all you have? You, who would take your keepsakes of me in blood, in scent, in memory—what will you give me in return?” He rolls his hips into Thor’s before Thor can form a proper response. “I will tell you what I want from you: make me remember this. This day. This promise. The way you feel against me. Make me unable to forget who I belong to,” he goads, his voice a breathy moan in Thor’s ear. 

“If I have my way, you shall never forget,” Thor says, before driving inhumanly deep into Loki, relishing his howl of pleasure.

“Harder, _harder_ ,” Loki gasps through gritted teeth, and Thor takes in the tears pooling at the corners of his eyes, the desperate heaving of his chest for breath, and _gives_ him harder. 

Loki’s cries rise in pitch and volume with each thrust, each louder than the last until Thor reaches out to wrap fingers around Loki’s cock. His touch is all it takes to bring Loki over the edge, and with a gasp, Loki arches into Thor’s grip, violent, as if he’s seizing, shaking as he spills, his breath shuddering out. The clench of him around Thor hastens his own release, and he curls his arms beneath Loki’s shoulders, twining his legs tight beneath Loki’s calves as he spends, in achingly hard bursts. 

When they have peeled apart and their breaths even out, Loki presses a finger, gentle, to the cleft of his ass where the first rivulets of Thor’s essence leak out. “A pity,” Loki says lazily. He examines the fluid on his fingers in the false twilight of the city skyscrapers. “To think, this seed could have been used to people the halls of Bilskirnir with heirs.”

Thor refuses to rise to Loki’s jibes about this matter. Instead, he curls his fingers between Loki’s, and presses their palms together. “Perhaps one day it will.”

“If you expect me to—”

“I expect nothing,” says Thor patiently. “If ever, it will be by your own choice. Just as it is your choice to stay with me, here, on Midgard.” Ever has Loki had his hideouts and spaces secreted away, from spacious lofts to tiny dwellings underground. His work with SHIELD does not stipulate his constant presence at the Avengers tower. 

Loki closes his eyes and sighs. His fingers curl back over Thor’s. “You are _incorrigible_ ,” he says.

Thor nudges Loki onto his side and presses against him, nuzzling into warm, sweat-slick skin. “An incorrigible optimist, perhaps,” he says with a laugh. He takes the opportunity to inhale the scent of Loki’s hair. It smells like the dried leaves of Midgard’s autumn, curled and crisp. His neck carries the musk of honey melon, the scent of their soap, with a hint of sweat and sex.

“There’s no need to sniff at me like I’m some delectable dish,” Loki grumbles, wriggling a half-protest in Thor’s arms. “You smell the same as me.”

“I know,” says Thor. He thinks it oddly sweet, in a way he can’t describe. As if he has found another way they have become one, in the way that they smell like each other. He smiles at the thought, lips curving against the nape of Loki’s neck. 

“Go to _sleep_ , Thor,” Loki whispers, bumping him with his shoulder. It’s so reminiscent of the Loki of their youth, when they were children snuggling together in the sheets in the dark, that Thor can’t help but laugh again, and he winds his arms around Loki’s belly, tight. Perhaps a child of theirs will grow in there one day, perhaps not; as long as Thor has Loki, he will be content. 

Loki would probably sneer at the sentiment, but as it is, he does not respond. He is either asleep, feigning sleep or outright ignoring Thor.

Thor hums, buries his face in Loki’s hair, and drifts off to the telltale snuffling of Loki sleeping, drowsy, sated and content in their cocoon of shared warmth.

~

He wakes to the sagging weight of Loki sitting up on his side of the bed, the pad of his footsteps across the floor.

“Loki, love. Come back to bed,” whispers Thor, holding out his hand in an entreaty. “Dawn has not even broken yet.”

Cool fingers curl around Thor’s wrist, soothing circles into the pulse point. “I must leave _now_.”

“I should be there. By your side,” Thor murmurs. He clasps Loki’s hand to mirror the motion, his fingers memorizing the rhythm and thrum of Loki’s heartbeat.

The corner of Loki’s mouth twitches against Thor’s cheek, a smile Thor hears in Loki’s tone as much as he feels. “I shall be back before you know it.”

Thor noses at Loki’s face until he finds his mouth in the dark, and brings their lips together in a soft, tilted kiss. “Have a care where you are headed. I would not see harm befall you for the sake of Fury’s mad schemes.”

What he means is _I would not lose you_ , but he will not taint their last moment together with worry and apprehension. The time for that was last night; now is the time for soft words and gentler affections, something for Loki to cherish and know that he has, to return to. 

Regardless, something of his worry must bleed into his posture—perhaps it’s the rigid line of his shoulders, or the grim set of his mouth—because Loki sets his bag down, and digs nimble fingers into Thor’s trapezius muscles, kneading the knots of tension away. Presses kisses, soft and reassuring, to the corner of Thor’s mouth.

“All right,” says Loki. He sighs into Thor’s mouth, a gentle huff of exasperation, when Thor reels him in for a kiss to the mouth proper. “All _right_.” 

He draws back to ready his bags, but this time Thor drags him back by the ends of his scarf for another, more desperate kiss, sliding his tongue into Loki’s mouth, a hungry tangle of heat and teeth, because this could be the last time he sees Loki alive, this could be their last kiss, and Thor whimpers, because he cannot bear the thought of Loki not returning—

“Let _go_ , you imbecile, or I shall never leave at all,” Loki gripes, even as his clutching hands and heaving breaths say otherwise. 

Thor grins as Loki’s fingers scrabble against his upper arms, pressing indents of heat into Thor’s skin, but the victory is short-lived; when Loki stands, he vanishes instantly from the room. 

“Oh,” says Thor into the empty room. He had not expected their parting to be so sudden, and his only consolation for Loki’s absence is that he will not see Thor’s heartache and pain. With a sigh, he curls into the scarf he spirited off Loki’s neck, inhaling its scent to preserve the memory of his brother’s warmth, while hoping for his safe return. 

It’s only later, when Thor drags himself to the bathroom to wash his face and looks in the mirror, that he realizes: Loki has taken his own keepsake of Thor, a lock of Thor’s golden hair, clipped while he was sleeping, as a memento until his return. Thor can’t help but laugh, a tear of misery and mirth both sliding down his cheek; even without the bond of blood, the two of them are more alike than he thought.

~

Thor decides that morning to speak his mind to SHIELD about the status of Loki’s missions. To have them cease their assignment of life-threatening missions to Loki and give him the recognition he deserves. Despite the destruction Loki had wrought in New York not two years ago, surely he has earned his redemption by now, and if SHIELD does not deem so, Loki is still a prince of Asgard, and as such, is to be afforded every modicum of respect.

Thor suspects, however, that Fury would say, “Not throwing Loki’s ass into prison is pretty damn respectful already”.

Before he has a chance to connect with SHIELD, Thor is called away by the reports of rioting and looting and general mayhem that have started springing up throughout the city. It takes him, Tony, Clint and Steve working in tandem with multiple police units, to suppress the panic that overtakes the city more rapidly than ever now.

“It’s the airlines,” Tony says absently at one point, to explain the acceleration of distressing incidents. Thor does not understand how the mortals’ large, lumbering planes have anything to do with this, until he spies one spiraling down overhead, an angry mass of smoke and flame that has lost control. It hits him all at once: the planes are the vector for whatever is causing this disease overtaking the populace. This madness. 

Still, the true horror is yet to come; it strikes when Tony’s voice comes on over their in-ear radio, panicked, for the first time. “Uh, guys, _slight_ problem,” Tony says. His next words are whisper-quiet. “The dead? They’re reanimating.” 

Thor barely hears it in his earpiece. As if Tony is unsure, or hopes he’s not right.

“Little too late for April Fools’, Tony,” says Steve. Disapproval is evident in his voice. “And too early for Halloween.”

Thor looks to the body bags that litter the alleys, so many of New York’s citizens having died from the rampant sickness that their bodies spill out from morgues and homes to pile along the sides of common roads. Some of the bodies are hours old, others only minutes, but—

The body bags are _moving_ , with erratic twitching and jerking, a grotesque danse macabre played out in the streets of New York. As if the bodies within are struggling, fighting, to tear free of their shrouds. 

This is no joke at all.

“The dead are reanimating,” Tony says, louder this time. “And— _jesus_ —they’re _eating_ people! Get back to the tower, regroup, get back to the tower right fucking _now_.”

It is as close to undone as Thor has ever heard Tony. Thor does not need to be told twice; he coordinates with Tony to find their teammates on the ground, the ones with no form of aerial transportation, and together, they fly back to the tower.

By the time they join Bruce and Natasha back at the Avengers tower, it is late afternoon, half of Manhattan is in flames, and all communication systems are down. 

There is no SHIELD to complain to any longer.

~

After losing contact with SHIELD’s facilities, the Avengers receive several garbled transmissions from individual agents. Fury sends one early in the evening, and Coulson another late in the night. The transmissions resolve into such messages as _Stay where you are_ and _Take care of yourselves first_ , but they are not given any means to communicate back.

The next day brings with it no new messages; not even the brusquely worded ones from the Director. 

Thor takes this to mean that there is no longer Fury to complain to, either.

Tony flips through the channels of the television in the common area, where Thor, Bruce, Steve, Natasha and Clint huddle together now. The television stations broadcast their news live, but it is not long before every channel goes down, becoming some variation of a lifeless, blank screen, pinging static and scrolling the message _EMERGENCY BROADCASTING SYSTEM: All broadcasting systems have been discontinued during this emergency. This station will continue to broadcast breaking news and official information as soon as possible. Stay in your homes and await further instruction._

Of course, people take the notice to mean the exact opposite, and take to the streets instead, rioting and looting. Others seek refuge elsewhere, resulting in a mass exodus of people to the city limits, where they are beaten back by defensive police units, which only adds to the mass hysteria. 

Steve finds an old radio in Tony’s workshop, the kind with wooden casing and palm-sized dials, and expertly thumbs his way through crackling, muffled stations for news. It is a boon, as much of Tony’s Stark tech has since been unable to obtain a signal and draws too heavily on their already strained electricity resources.

The radio stations continue broadcasting news, most times whisper-quiet to avoid detection by the not-humans. But when the last radio host reporting from his lone outpost goes off air, screaming, struggling and finally _silent_ —save for the sounds of tearing flesh and wet chewing—Tony reaches out, pale and shaking, to switch the radio off,. 

An uncomfortable thought begins to take root in Thor’s mind, one he holds at bay by keeping busy, by assisting the Avengers in their efforts to stamp out this bedlam and take back the city. But at night, when Thor lies awake, trying to shut out the sounds of screams fading into dry, listless moans, his old fear returns: if things are this bad here, what must it be like where Loki is, the supposed _source_ of all this chaos?

~

When another several days pass without word from Loki, Thor takes to pacing in his room, tireless circles that wear out the carpet when he’s not out controlling the mass panic with his teammates. He has not Loki’s talent for scrying, and does not even know if Loki has left whichever forsaken place he was sent to. And while Natasha and Clint have each other, and Tony and Bruce have thrown themselves into researching the contagion (the Lady Pepper had been away from the tower for a meeting and Tony had flown out just once to find her; when he returned, he had come back without her and would not speak of what he had seen), Loki is all Thor has, and he doesn’t know if Loki has been driven to hole up in some secret lair, or if he is hurt, or worse, _dead_.

He is mulling this thought over for what must be the millionth time that day—that Loki is fine, Loki will make it through, because he and Thor are Asgardians, and they are supposed to be _eternal_ —when he is supposed to be watching the perimeter, forming a barrier of lightning for the other Avengers to attack from the center of. They have given up on easing the widespread panic, and are instead focusing on taking out as many as those newly undead beings as they can. 

The impact of teeth on his vambrace shakes Thor from his rumination. It’s only then he realizes he has let the barrier around him and his teammates drop, completely exposing them to the horrors closing in around them. 

The gnashing at his forearm continues, spurring Thor into motion. He swings Mjölnir upon the creature’s head, thankful that it is unable to pierce either his vambrace or his fish-scale armor, but it proves most persistent, clinging to his arm, chewing, rasping—until Clint’s arrow strikes it through the eye.

“What the _hell_ , Thor?” Clint says after, when they have cleared the area. “It’s not like you to just freeze like that.” 

“Yeah,” agrees Tony. “Freezing is more Loki’s domain.” When no one laughs at this, he adds quickly, “Seriously though, what’s going on? Your head hasn’t been in the game lately.”

Thor takes that phrase to mean his inability to focus on the tasks at hand, and waves away their concern. “It is nothing.” Loki’s prolonged disappearance has driven him to distraction, but he is unsure how to approach the topic with his teammates. 

Natasha stares at all of them and sighs. “I can’t believe this,” she says, incredulous. “It’s _Loki_. Thor’s worried sick about him. That’s what’s ‘going on’.” 

Thor feels the blood drain from his face; hearing Loki’s name said aloud like this forces him to acknowledge the worry, the turmoil that has been roiling in his gut since Loki’s departure.

“Yes,” Natasha continues, unrelenting, “the sooner we acknowledge this, the sooner we can figure out what to do.”

“There’s no shame in admitting you’re worried about your brother,” says Steve, squeezing Thor’s shoulder.

“And lover,” Tony chimes in helpfully. “Don’t forget _that_.”

Thor manages a feeble smile. It has taken the other Avengers time to be comfortable with what he and Loki are to each other, but he is glad they understand. 

“Look,” Steve says quietly, “I’m not sure we’ll be any help in terms of searching for Loki—he probably has a million hiding places all over New York, if not the country. But maybe we could cover for you. Give you the time you need to look for him. I mean, who else knows Loki better than _you_ , right?”

Thor breaks into a grateful smile, his spirits instantly lifted. “Thank you, my friends, I…” He swallows, hard. 

“ _Go_ ,” says Clint, nocking another arrow, its tip charged with explosives. Another pocket of the undead have surfaced, crowding the Avengers inward, until they stand back-to-back in a tight circle, a formation they’ve now grown used to. “ _Now_. We’ll hold the fort until you come back.”

Thor nods and flings himself into the sky after Mjölnir. 

It takes him time to find the safest route, but he makes his way to Loki’s old apartment on Canal Street. Sneaks into another of Loki’s lairs, tucked away behind some sewers belowground. When that trip proves unfruitful, he flies to the loft Loki had built for himself in a more posh part of town. Visits the hideaway Loki established in a corner of Central Park, spelled to resemble an old, sprawling tree. All secret retreats of Loki’s that Thor has uncovered over the last couple years, places Loki could hide in case he could not return to the tower right away. 

The Avengers tower itself is difficult to find now, ever since they disconnected much of the power; it used to be a beacon of hope, but lights only attract looters now, and occasionally the newly reanimated. A warm light for all deadkind, which is the last thing they need. 

There is no sign of Loki at any of the places Thor checks. 

As an afterthought—and it shames him so to admit it—Thor flies to the newly rebuilt SHIELD headquarters where his first friends in Midgard were relocated. He arrives to a burnt, collapsed husk of a building, with hundreds of the creatures milling about, some within the glass enclosure, and many more outside. A number of them wander about in their crumpled, standard-issue SHIELD suits, scavenging for scraps from bodies of the long-dead. 

Thor does not see his friends among the creatures or the corpses. He counts himself lucky. 

Upon his return to the Avengers tower, Thor informs the others of what he found at the headquarters of SHIELD. As Natasha says, the sooner they acknowledge what has happened, the better; there is no room for false hope amid the burning wreckage and growing numbers of undead in their city.

~

Another three days pass without word from Loki.

Thor sits near the window, watching the aimless meandering of the creatures outside the tower. Several of them travel in small, tight-knit groups, while others have formed a slow, shambling horde. No matter how many he and the Avengers put down, there are always more. He is not certain when containment turned into neutralization—mostly by removing the head or destroying the brain—into _slaughter_. The Midgardians that he hopes live on in the city, in small pockets, underground or holed up in their homes, do not know that their lives are measured in hours now, minutes even, and not the days or years their natural lifespans have promised. 

Suddenly, there’s a gentle current of air, too warm to have come from Thor’s window, and the rustle of fine silk. 

“You’ve been looking for me,” says a tired voice.

Thor would know that voice anywhere; he turns sharply, hoping against all hope that it is no vision, no hallucination, and is rewarded for his troubles: Loki sits lightly on their bed, in the same Midgardian finery he left in, his bespoke suit with sharply cut lapels and jaunty scarf of green-and-gold print. It’s only upon further notice that Thor realizes it is not the same scarf, could not be, as he had stolen the one from Loki’s neck before his departure.

Thor has no words for the utter relief he feels, and while thoughts of _Where have you been_ and _I missed you_ cross his mind, the first thing he does is reach for Loki and take him into his arms, his hands cinching tight into Loki’s hair. “Loki,” he croaks, desperate in his overwhelming need. “ _Loki_.” 

“I knew you were never particularly verbose, but this is a new low,” Loki muses.

Thor keeps silent, burying his face into Loki’s shoulder, his neck, his hair, as if Thor can somehow merge into his brother if he presses hard enough.

“Yes, yes, I missed you too,” Loki says. The corner of his mouth quirks into a smile as he slides his arms around Thor’s shoulders.

Thor draws back the slightest distance, not quickly or far enough for Loki to deem it rejection, at the unnaturally strong tendrils of seiðr emanating from Loki’s clothing and skin. “You need not maintain your glamour, brother. We are amongst friends here.” 

“Ah,” Loki says softly. “You _have_ grown more adept at sensing seiðr, haven’t you?” 

Thor frowns. He has not; rather, it is because Loki is channeling an inordinate amount of it into his glamour, and Thor can sense him barely holding the illusion together. Wisps of seiðr bleed out where the glamour wanes, prickling at Thor’s skin, and it worries him; what reason could Loki have, to place such a strong glamour on himself that even Thor could sense it? One so substantial that it would not be dispelled the moment Thor touched him? 

He winds reassuring fingers around Loki’s waist. “Loki, please. Conserve your seiðr and your strength.”

“Very well,” Loki sighs. He lets the glamour drop.

Thor surges forward at the sight, encircling Loki’s shoulders with his arms, a low moan escaping his lips. “Oh, Loki. Loki, _no_.”

Spatters of blood line the once-burnished scales of his armor, while streaks of dark crimson overlay the green, many of which resolve into bloodied handprints running the length of Loki’s armor. 

“Thor. _Thor_ , you are hurting—” Loki gasps, and only then does Thor realize he has wound himself so tightly around Loki that he can barely breathe. He forces himself to pull away, holding Loki by the shoulders as he inspects Loki’s neck, skin and hands, anywhere exposed that could be subject to a bite. Thor and his teammates have since determined that the disease can be transmitted in this manner, where it can wreak havoc on the body within minutes to hours.

“You’re not—you weren’t—” Thor tries, and he feels his throat close up, at the thought of Loki being hurt, being taken from him by those _things_. 

“I am fine,” Loki says. He leans in, letting his forehead knock against Thor’s in reassurance. “I am _fine_ , you oaf. Stop your foolish fretting.” He sounds more pleased than he has any right to be, but Thor leaves him be. Loki has made good on his promise to return, after all.

Thor slides his hand along Loki’s cloak, thinking to twist it in his hands, to drag Loki close again, but its entirety is caked with dried blood, as if it had been soaked through. All of a sudden, Thor is haunted by a vision of Loki bleeding out, helpless and afraid and surrounded by strangers, with Thor miles away and powerless to stop it. 

“Loki, this blood,” he tries. He clenches the crusted cloth in his fist, tight.

Loki lets his head fall to Thor’s shoulder, and breathes into Thor’s neck, warm. Thor is sure Loki can feel him trembling, and is offering reassurance in the way he knows how. “Be still, Thor,” says Loki. “This is not my blood. It is the blood of the SHIELD agents that accompanied me to Fury’s so-called ‘bunker’.” Loki pauses to breathe in, as if steeling himself for a confession. “They turned,” he says simply, in the end.

Thor nods; that Loki had to fight his way out of a horde of SHIELD agents who had turned explained his blood-soaked cloak and the purpose of his glamour: he had not wanted Thor to see him battle-worn and soul-weary. Loki rests his chin over Thor’s shoulder, and lets himself go limp with a sigh, as if Thor is the one place he can let his guard down. A moment of silence follows, but even so, it is too long for it to be commonplace for Loki.

“Loki?” Thor slides his fingers into the damp curls over Loki’s neck. “Something else troubles you. Was it something you saw at the bunker?”

“Mmnh,” Loki replies, with an ambiguous twitch of his shoulder. 

“What was it?” Thor asks urgently. “Please, if you know anything—”

Loki sighs, before drawing back to pick at a loose thread in the covers of their bed. “I am not certain you will want to hear it.”

“If you saw anything—however small—that could shed light on this strange condition Midgard has been struck by, I must hear it.” Thor shuffles closer, winding his arm around Loki’s waist. He has learned that Loki is more inclined to share his thoughts if he perceives they will not be met with animosity. That, and the urge to protect Loki has been steadily growing with each passing minute, especially against whatever horror Loki experienced during his mission.

Loki stares unseeing, at the corner of their room. “When we arrived at the town Fury asked us to investigate, it was to a burnt husk of civilization. There were no survivors, and already many of the townspeople had turned. We thought to connect with the SHIELD facility nearby, but…” Loki pauses. “The bunker we were to connect with had also been overrun. But before the agents accompanying me were bitten, before they turned and I had to make my escape, I saw enough to know that it was no ordinary bunker Fury had me investigating.” Loki presses further into Thor’s side. “It was a laboratory—no, a fully-developed underground research facility.”

When Loki pauses to let the implications of that sink in, Thor feels a lump of lead start to take form in his stomach. He thinks he knows where this is going, but Thor will not give voice to his lingering suspicion; he will wait for Loki to confirm or deny it.

“I believe,” Loki says slowly, “that SHIELD may have been attempting to develop a pathogen to strengthen their biological warfare arsenal. And something went terribly awry; perhaps a prick of the finger with a pipette, improper handling of glass slides. The first transmission could have happened in any manner. And if any of those scientists or researchers happened to make it aboveground—well.”

Thor pales, his worst suspicions confirmed. “Then this madness, this massive loss of life…all of it has been caused by SHIELD?”

“Your mortals dabble in what they do not understand,” Loki says bitingly. “Creating weapons based on the Destroyer. Thinking to harness the power of the Tesseract. They have brought this upon themselves.”

Thor frowns. As much as he has grown disillusioned of SHIELD and its methods, he has put it aside in order to help the people he has sworn to protect. “Loki. We can fix this though, can we not?” Thor asks, gazing upon Loki earnestly. “There is hope?” Loki has a plan for everything. He has plans for even _those_ plans; he must have a way.

Loki casts Thor a withering look, as if to say _But for you, I would not lift a finger to help these pathetic peons_. “I thought _you_ were the endless font of optimism, not I,” he says. At Thor’s hopeful expression, however, he relents a little, letting himself lean into the cradle of Thor’s arm. “I make no promises, Thor. I will endeavor to gather what information I can about this illness, but first I need rest.”

Thor acknowledges his request with a nod; Loki has told him all he knows, or as much as he thinks Thor needs to know at present, and they could both benefit from a slumber of their own. When Loki slides to the bed, already half asleep, Thor unclothes him slowly, careful to keep the dried blood from marring Loki’s milk-pale skin. He flings the soiled clothing to the farthest corner of the room, and after he has stripped Loki down to nothing, he winds his arms around Loki’s waist. Pulls him in close to clasp his hands together at the small of Loki’s back. 

“Loki,” Thor murmurs into the soft skin of Loki’s neck. “ _Loki_.” As if each utterance of his name will reassure Thor of his brother’s presence, reaffirm that he is alive and well. He finds Loki’s mouth in the dark and presses light, soothing kisses to Loki’s lips. 

“Mmhn,” Loki breathes. He shifts in Thor’s hold, but not away; it is only to find a better position from which to meet Thor’s mouth. Thor takes the opportunity to slide his tongue into Loki’s mouth, urgent and needy, kissing him as if this is the final time he will see Loki, because their latest kiss very nearly _was_ , and in this new world, he can never be certain which moment will be their last.

He lets his hands wander down to trace the curve of Loki’s hips. The graceful line of his thighs. But when his questing fingers start tracing the cleft of Loki’s ass, Loki swats his hand away. 

“Fool,” Loki murmurs. “What part of _I need rest_ did you not understand?” He sounds fond in his exasperation, however, and though Loki turns over in the bed, he lets Thor twine arms and hips around him, sheltering Loki in his familiar Thor-cocoon of warmth. Allows him to indulge. 

They do not make love that night, but he holds Loki close, their hands clasped together over Loki’s heart. Each steady beat of it is a reassurance, a comfort enough to lull Thor into slumber, a peaceful rest in which Thor lets himself believe all is well, because Loki is here, Loki is safe, Loki is _alive_.

~

“Wait,” says Tony the next morning, “let me get this straight. Are you telling me that this freak show outside is SHIELD’s fault?”

Thor dips his head solemnly. He had taken Tony aside first to explain the situation, as it is his tower they are living in, as well as the fact that Tony is one of the more ingenious ones of their group. “It appears that way, from what Loki has seen.” 

He goes on to share the information about the underground research lab; with Fury and the others agents of SHIELD out of contact or otherwise lost to them, the Avengers need every piece of new information on this new enemy they can gather. 

“Great,” Tony says, kneading his temples. “Just great. I guess that explains why they’ve been so desperate to keep it under wraps. Especially the part about the dead coming back to _life_.” He sighs. “I knew Fury was up to something when he wanted to talk to Loki alone.”

“Should we tell the others?” Thor asks hesitantly. At this stage, causing panic among their already small party is likely inadvisable. 

Tony looks toward the common room where Loki and the other Avengers have gathered. “No,” he says, after a moment of deliberation. “Not right now. Before, I might’ve said we should visit this site Loki was at, but I don’t know if we can spare the people now. Besides, if a handful of highly-trained SHIELD agents and _Loki_ couldn’t handle it, I’m not sure what chances we have.”

“Loki said there were no survivors in the research complex. No one would be able to guide us to the chemicals needed to form a cure, and what is left has likely been rampaged through by the undead.”

“Yep, all the more reason we shouldn’t tell the others yet,” Tony agrees. He thumps Thor on the back, a strange gesture of camaraderie Thor is still getting used to. “Besides, we’ve got another, more immediate problem. Come on,” Tony says, jerking his head toward the others. “I’ll fill you in when we get there.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "We’ve got another, more immediate problem,” Tony says. He jerks his head toward the others. “ Come on, I’ll fill you in when we get there.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Zombie AU. Written to sate my desire for Thor/Loki-centric apocalyptic fiction. Title from Tolkien’s Ring verse.

~

Thor takes a seat next to Loki upon entering the common room, comforted by the way Loki brushes dry fingers over his. When they have all gathered, Tony waits until he has everyone’s attention, and says without preamble, “We’re out of food.”

“ _What_ ,” says Steve. It is clear that he expresses this sentiment for everyone in the room. 

“Well—” Tony says, backpedalling quickly, “I mean, we’re sort of half-living on canned food, but I’m not sure how long that’s going to last us. My best guess, since the delivery trucks stopped coming, is that we have maybe a week’s worth left. But I know everyone metabolizes differently, so maybe not even _that_ long.”

Thor notes that Tony very pointedly does not look in his and Loki’s direction. He shifts guiltily in his seat anyway; between him and Loki, they generally consume more than any Avenger’s weight in food.

“What do you suggest we do?” asks Bruce.

“We’re going to have to stock up. Food, water, medicine and whatever else we can find. The supermarkets are probably empty now; we’ll try our luck at the corner grocery stores. Hit up a pharmacy or two.”

“This isn’t going to be a walk in the park,” says Steve. “What are we going to do about those _things_ that are attacking people?”

“Glad you asked,” Tony nods. He drags out a dusty, ancient-looking blackboard, and scrawls down several bullet points. “Before we set out, we have to know our enemy.”

“Are we seriously using a blackboard? That’s pretty old-school, if you ask me,” Clint notes. He leans back at a precarious angle on his chair, fiddling with a broken piece of chalk.

“Uh, yeah, we seriously _are_ , because this is an old-school battle speech,” says Tony. “ _And_ we don’t want to be wasting any more electricity than we need to.” 

Much of the power in the Avengers tower has been coming from generators Tony installed during the building of what was once Stark tower, in a fit of what Loki calls ‘mild paranoia’. All of it reroutes now to central rooms, such as the kitchen, common room, laboratory, and bedrooms. 

Tony looks toward the other members of their team. “Any more wisecracks before we start? No? Didn’t think so.” He claps his hands together. 

“Let’s begin here,” Tony says, gesturing toward the first bullet point. “This is what we know of the disease trajectory: it starts with a bite from one of the infected. Contagion then enters the bloodstream. Following sanguineous contamination are high fevers as the body struggles to adapt to the virus, before it gives up and results in complete organ failure, even liquefaction of vital organs, leading to death. Which we thought was the end of it, but _no_.” He pauses for a breath. “Because now we’ve got post-mortem awakening.” 

Thor furrows his brow. Several of the words are incomprehensible to him, but Loki, who Thor is certain understands everything, looks troubled. He reaches out for Loki’s hand, but Loki is swifter, his fingers reaching Thor’s first for a quick, reassuring squeeze.

“As we’ve learned, there’s no reasoning with these things,” Tony continues. “When engaged with these creatures, our only options are stealth or combat. In terms of combat, tasers are absolutely useless. Flamethrowers don’t work. Bullets and knives, on the other hand, _do_. Turns out, the only thing that puts ‘em down and keeps ‘em down is a headshot of some sort.”

“So, you’re saying we need to destroy the brain,” Bruce notes. He adjusts his glasses, pushing them up the bridge of his nose. 

“Yep.” Tony nods at Bruce, before continuing. “All those zombie flicks you might’ve seen? They were right.” He looks around at the rest of them, before deflating a little. “Anyway, that’s what we’re up against,” Tony sighs. “Questions?”

“Do we have a name for them?” Steve asks. “A common enemy should have a name so we know what to refer to them by.”

“We could call them Walkers,” offers Bruce. “Like they do on _The Walking Dead_.” 

Thor thinks if they must be called something, they should be called Shamblers or Stumblers, as those words provide a more apt description of their motion, but keeps his silence. His teammates might take offense to their iconic television show being referred to as _The Stumbling Dead_.

“Look,” Tony says, “I know there’s a stigma in every movie that says we can’t use the Z-word. That we’ve gotta use cutesy euphemisms, like Z’s, or zoms, or ‘newly turned’. But this is real life; let’s call a spade a spade. We’ll call them zombies. Or undead. Whatever.”

A ripple of dissent surges forth from the other Avengers; there is being a realist, and then there is _being a realist_ , and no one quite wants to be the latter. 

“We could call them _draugar_ ,” Loki says suddenly. 

Thor looks to him in surprise; Loki has not spoken out so forthrightly like this for some time, usually content to hear the ideas of others first before cutting them down to size.

“Where we are from, the undead are referred to as _draugr_ , or _draugar_ , plural,” Loki explains. “It is rather a misappropriation of the word, but it will do.” He shrugs, seemingly nonchalant, but his fingers tighten around Thor’s, anxious. 

Silence follows. No matter how long it has been, the Avengers are always surprised when Loki offers his opinion. It is a foolish thing, Thor thinks, because Loki speaks up when it matters, calms the ranks of their dissent. He is ever the voice of reason, even in the days of their company with Sif and the Warriors Three.

“I like it,” says Natasha. She says the word _draugar_ herself, as if trying out the word, testing it. 

“As do I,” Thor beams. The word is slightly inexact in describing their foes, but for their purposes, it will do.

Steve snorts a laugh. “Thor, you don’t count, you’ll always agree with—”

“How _dare_ you,” Loki hisses. “My brother _always_ counts.” He glares at the five of them in turn, daring them to defy him. 

Another short silence falls. By now, though, the other Avengers have at least learned that although Loki ruffles feathers, he _does_ have good ideas. They attribute his attitude to Loki simply being himself, and carry on.

“Actually, yeah,” Tony says now. “I like _draugar_ better too.” He clasps his hands together, as if he has the final word on the matter. “Now that we’ve got a name, let’s divide into teams.”

~

The Avengers arrange themselves into teams of two and are assigned different areas of the city to scavenge at. Tony and Steve cover a section of upper Manhattan, while Clint and Natasha are to prowl the local area and search for supplies. Thor is paired with Loki, and together, they are assigned to lower Manhattan. Bruce is to stay behind and make sure the tower is not overrun in their absence, a sentry of sorts against intruding draugar.

Before each team sets out, Loki spells all their bags and rucksacks to have larger capacities than they appear to. Places a simple cloaking spell on each of their comrades, to shield them from sight. 

“I _knew_ it was good idea to have a magician on our team,” Tony pipes up, as his suit of armour blends into the environment. The only telltale sign of his presence is a slight, shimmering glow, not unlike gas rippling through the air. 

Thor resists the urge to inform Tony that it was not all that long ago he had called Loki ‘batshit crazy’, and by the smirk that tugs at Loki’s lips, Thor can tell Loki remembers it as well. 

When their preparations and cloaking spells are complete, Natasha and Clint leave by a little-used entrance used for delivery trucks. Tony and Steve start off on foot, as Tony’s suit of armour makes an inordinate amount of noise. 

With the exception of her resonant hum as she picks up speed, Mjölnir is thankfully quiet, and Thor takes off with Loki into the sky. 

They land quietly behind a pharmacy that is tucked into a strip mall, half of which has been reduced to rubble by air strikes. Several draugar mill about in front of the entrance, but for all their sluggishness, they have grown emaciated now, and will be all the more vicious for their hunger. 

Thor eases the back door of the pharmacy open, careful to avoid creaking the hinges, and ushers Loki in ahead of him. When they are both inside, Loki motions for Thor to watch the exits, as he makes his way toward the supplies. Thor nods and sets himself just inside the back door, Mjölnir clenched in hand, at the ready. Watches the entrance where three draugar lurch blindly past the broken window. 

There is not much in the way of food, but luckily the pharmacy doubles as a miniature convenience store of sorts. Thor watches as Loki winds his way past the broken refrigerators, careful to avoid half-dried puddles of melted ice cream and spilled drinks. He hurries past the rancid butter and spoiled milk, harvesting several boxes of snack cakes and cookie mix. Starts packing away bottles of juice, and bars of chocolate. 

Though Thor notices Loki squirreling away sweet things first, he says nothing; Loki will pack what Tony has requested soon enough. His order of scavenging triggers a swell of fondness in Thor’s chest, with the way he moves from sweet drinks and confectionery to water and food, then to medicine. 

It’s when Loki reaches for a bottle of pills on a low shelf that all Hel breaks loose; a blackened hand with strings of loose flesh hanging from it grabs Loki’s, and though Loki has the sense not to yelp or drop his rucksack in surprise, the draugr the hand belongs to lunges out, clawing the air in front of it blindly. Loki creates an instant illusion of himself, but the draugr continues its course toward the real Loki, honing in on him as if the real him is a beacon somehow. Even Loki’s spells to mask motion prove barely effective, and Thor realizes then that they are not driven by sight, but something more primal— sound, perhaps, or _smell_ —at the same time he realizes, too late, that he had not cleared the pharmacy before Loki entered. 

Loki scrambles toward the exit as Thor makes his way toward him, ready to fend off the draugr, but there is no longer just the one; the draugar milling about outside the store have been drawn by the sound of their brethren’s cry from inside—a hoarse, rattling bark, the sound repeated in groups of three—and lurch their way in, as fast as their broken, rotting limbs can drag them. 

With his back pressed to Loki’s and Mjölnir at the ready, he and Loki fight as one unit, moving and circling in tandem. Mjölnir catches the draugar unaware, her uru head smashing open their skulls, and Thor’s arcing swings are augmented by Loki’s graceful dispersal of throwing knives and seiðr. 

It is only when Thor breaks through the second wave of draugar, a new horde that has spilled into the pharmacy through the back alley entrance, that he realizes Loki is no longer at his back. 

“Loki?’ Thor calls desperately. “Loki!”

“ _Quiet_ , you fool,” comes a strained voice from the floor, and the scenario is worse than Thor thought; there’s a draugr pinning Loki to the floor, bloodied jaws snapping in hunger in front of Loki’s face, ichor dripping from its chin in a long, black line that pools on Loki’s armor. When the bolts of seiðr Loki fires into its head do nothing, Loki conjures a dagger of ice into a being, struggling to pierce the draugr’s skull, but the angle is all wrong, and Loki cannot slide it home into the creature’s brain. 

The snap of jaws too close to Thor’s head remind him of the onslaught he barely holds at bay, and he smashes Mjölnir into the lot of them, paying little mind to whether he leaves bodies or heads intact. 

“Brother, _please_ ,” Loki says suddenly, Loki is _begging_ , because the draugr above him is gaining on him, and in an instant that feels too long, too slow for Thor, he is there, Mjölnir swinging a wide arc into the side of the draugr’s head, obliterating its skull. His arm swings again and again, shattering bone and tearing through tendon, until blood flies at his face, because this thing, this abomination had almost taken Loki from him. 

How dare it, how _dare_ it think it had the right? Except these things could not think, the mindless creatures having long since lost their humanity—

“Thor.” Loki’s touch at the small of his back is gentle, a reassuring weight, despite the tremor in his hand. “Enough. The draugar here have been defeated. We hardly want to attract more of their attention.”

“ _Loki_ ,” Thor breathes, wet and desperate, as he turns and clutches Loki’s shoulders, too tight, too worried. “Never—never leave my side again.” He pulls Loki close, burying his face into Loki’s hair and breathing him in, as if he can inhale hard enough to breathe Loki inside him and keep him safe. Ignores the blood, bone and brain stippling Loki’s skin like an abstract of broken flesh on pale canvas.

“We should—we should go,” Loki manages, but he’s starting to shake now, the barely noticeable tremor evolving into full-body shudders that have him clutching at Thor, at his cloak, Loki’s knees buckling beneath him. Thor tears the cloak from his shoulders to wrap around Loki, envelopes him in its warmth as he circles Loki with his arms. 

He flies them back to the tower, careful to dull Mjölnir’s song with a cloth as they rise. 

“Hey, how’d your scavenging mission go?” Tony asks, as they hurry into the tower. 

“ _Take_ it,” Thor says to Tony, more sharply than he intends, as he thrusts the bag of goods into Tony’s hands. He must tend to his brother first. 

They make their way to their floor, and as they head to the bedroom, Thor rubs Loki’s back, chafing at his skin through the leather and metal to warm him. Loki sits on the edge of the bed, shivering. He looks too small and vulnerable by half, and Thor is reminded of the little boy who was once no taller than Thor’s waist, terrified of thunderstorms and the dark.

“Loki,” Thor says hoarsely. He sits down next to Loki, tries to wrap an arm around his waist. 

“I have no need of your help,” Loki hisses, batting Thor’s hand away. “You have done enough. And I—I could have handled that draugr on my own.”

There is a bitterness roiling in Loki’s mind, Thor knows. That he needed Thor’s help at all, that his body could not hide his fear and gave in to its basest reactions, of shaking and clinging to his older brother. When his fear is known and his weapons rendered useless, Loki fights and scratches and spits vitriol aimed to injure pride, and it often takes inordinate amounts of affection to bring him around again. 

Thor is no stranger to Loki’s fits of anger and helplessness both. He lies down along the bed and opens his arms. “Come,” he says, beckoning Loki to fit into the shelter of his arms. “Lie down with me, Loki.”

Loki hesitates for a moment, before resting gingerly next to Thor. Thor lets his arms creep around Loki’s frame, then pulls him inward, enveloping Loki in a hug. Murmurs wordless nothings into his neck to soothe, and sprinkles his cheeks and nose and lips with kisses, soft.

“Look at you, so worried about the Jötunn foundling,” Loki sneers. “Odin would be ashamed to see you now.” Two years has not dampened his tongue from its quick barbs. Thor is certain a thousand more would not either, and though he has not the same skill with words to comfort and calm, this affection and physical closeness he _can_ do. Even beings revered as gods need affection and warmth, and Thor finds Loki is no exception. 

Although not even a god could withstand disembowelment, or being eaten alive by the hordes of Midgard’s draugar, even if they could survive infection. Thor shivers at the thought. All of Iðunn’s apples could not fix a body torn to shreds by greedy claws and gaping maws.

 _Oh_.

“Loki,” Thor breathes, excited. He wants to share this thought with the others immediately, but this is something he would discuss with his brother, to solicit his opinion of first. “The apples!”

“What nonsense are you prattling on about _now_?” Loki asks.

“Iðunn’s apples!” Thor beams. “Could they not be used to cure this Midgardian infection? Perhaps a way could be found to distil the liquid essence of the apples, to make it safe for the humans to use, and—Loki?”

Loki is quiet and does not meet his eyes, which means only one thing: the thought _has_ crossed Loki’s mind, and he had not seen fit to share it with Thor. Had waited until Thor had the epiphany on his own, and if not, would have kept his silence.

“Loki?” Thor says, trying to keep the hurt from his voice. “You thought of this before I did, didn’t you? Why did you not tell me?”

“I,” Loki tries. He shivers from within the makeshift blanket. Licks his lower lip, nervous. “Odin would not approve.”

 _Since when have you ever cared for Odin’s approval?_ lies on the tip of Thor’s tongue, before he banishes the thoughtless comment—too much of Loki’s life has been spent seeking their father’s approval, his regard, when all this time, he has had Thor’s. “We must try,” Thor replies, careful. “Loki, you know this. It is their only hope.”

“It is a foolish idea,” Loki snaps, clutching Thor’s cloak tight around his shoulders as he meets Thor’s eyes, furious. “Not only will it make the Midgardians near immortal, we risk giving away Asgard’s secret to longevity.” He gestures toward the main hall. “Their people already kill for the most trivial of things; what might they be driven to for something that is akin to immortality?”

“We can say the apples simply have curative properties. That their essence is a restorative,” Thor says, nodding. When Loki snorts at his naïveté, Thor sighs. “You said we could fix this, Loki. We must at least _try_. Especially if we can save Midgard’s population with this.”

Loki closes his eyes and breathes out slowly, ever his response when he knows Thor will not be dissuaded. “When will you leave for Asgard?”

Thor clasps his hands together behind Loki’s back, hitching him closer. “Tomorrow,” he says softly. “My attentions are needed elsewhere at the moment.”

“Oh?” Loki replies, his expression bordering on bored. Thor looks beyond that; he notices the tight lines at the corners of Loki’s eyes, the unhappy downturn of his mouth, all of which say _I need you. Stay with me._ Sentiments Loki cannot bring himself to voice, but is unable to school his features enough to hide.

He drops a reassuring kiss onto Loki’s hair, nuzzles into the softness of his neck. “Elsewhere,” Thor says, and besides the motion of pressing himself more fully against Loki, he shows no inclination of moving from the bed. “Right here.”

“Ah,” says Loki. And from the greedy clutch of fingers in Thor’s back, the slotting of hips and knees and toes into Thor’s space, Thor knows that he has done well; that Loki understands Thor’s first priority is _him_ , and always will be.

Later, Loki draws him into the shower, his eyes suspiciously bright as he winds his arms tight about Thor’s neck. And when he kisses Thor beneath the scalding spray, like something half-starved as Thor slides deep within him, Thor knows he has done very well indeed.

~

“My friends,” Thor announces, when the rest of the Avengers have gathered for breakfast. “I must pay a visit to Asgard.”

They look askance at him, as if to say _why now_ , their hollow-eyed stares betraying their fears of Thor abandoning them.

Thor makes his best attempt at a reassuring smile. “Have no fear,” he explains. “I shall return here as soon as I have sought my father’s counsel on this matter. He may yet have some insight on how to combat this calamity that has befallen us.”

“And Loki? Is he going with you?” Tony asks, mid-crunch on his dry cornflakes. Milk is a rare commodity now, and spoils far too easily.

“Someone has to stay here and make sure Thor has something to return to,” Loki drawls. “That _is_ what you were wondering, was it not? ‘Insurance’, I think you would call it?”

“ _Loki_ ,” Thor admonishes quietly. He nudges Loki’s knee with his, reproachful.

“Wow, okay,” Tony says, palms splayed out toward Loki in a defensive gesture. “I didn’t even think of that ‘til you brought it up. What I _was_ thinking was that we could really use your help around here. Both yours and Thor’s. And it would suck to see you both leave at the same time for a little road trip home. Not that we’re begrudging you a trip home, but—”

“I think,” Bruce says, touching his glasses to push them higher on his face, “that what Tony _means_ to say is that we like having you here. Not as insurance, not as leverage. Just…for being you.”

“Oh,” says Loki, quiet. He seems to have been struck speechless, a rare occurrence. 

Thor beams at his teammates—he is relieved to have misread their expressions as well. He sneaks his palm onto Loki’s knee beneath the table, and smiles when Loki’s hand closes over his. 

Later, when he and Loki have packed the provisions Thor will need for the journey home, Thor stops at the threshold from which he will fly with Mjölnir to a skyscraper far from the tower. He cups the back of Loki’s neck with his palm, memorizing his warmth, the softness of his milk-pale skin. Strokes the hollow of Loki’s throat with his thumb. 

“Come back with me, brother,” Thor says.

It is as much invitation as he can give; he will not offer false promises of Loki’s acceptance back into Odin’s court, nor will he use their mother as a reason to guilt Loki into accompanying him. This is to be his decision alone.

Loki shakes his head. Swipes his tongue over his lower lip, a habit he has not grown out of, when he is conflicted, or tempted even, by something he cannot quite have. Thor remembers Loki doing it more often in his presence, before they became everything they are to each other now. “No, I…I would be,” Loki says haltingly, “of more use here at the tower. Stark and Banner may need my expertise on things.”

Thor thinks Loki simply needs more time before he sets foot in Asgard again, if ever, and he dearly hopes Loki will, someday. “Then this is farewell, for the present,” he says, and leans in to bid his goodbyes in kisses, pressed to Loki’s eyelids and cheeks. 

“Nngh,” says Loki eloquently, when Thor kisses him long and thoroughly on the mouth, that he may remember the taste of Loki, and the sight of his lips, rose-red and kiss-swollen, for the time he must remain in Asgard. “Enough,” Loki says peevishly, after they while away long minutes exchanging kisses. He sets his hands on Thor’s chest to push him away, gentle. “Any longer, and your mortals will wonder why your journey took more time than it ought.”

Thor nods; there is logic in this, and time is indeed of the essence. He sneaks a last kiss to Loki’s brow, and stands at the edge of the Avengers tower roof, swinging Mjölnir with minor arcs of his wrist until he has built momentum enough to fling himself into the air after her. 

It is nearly sunset when he makes his way to the rooftop of an abandoned building on the other side of the city. Thor has worked out that the draugar are drawn by sound, and he would die before risking the safety of Loki and his friends at the tower with the roar of the Bifrost.

“Heimdall? When you’re ready,” Thor tries, eyes turned toward the sky. His request is barely above a whisper; the bellowing of a god is not conducive to a stealth mission to his home world to bring back a cure. Especially not when the broken ground beneath is swarming with slow-moving draugar, ready to lurch into action at a moment’s notice. 

There is a noticeable pause, a span of two heartbeats in which Thor’s chest fills with dread. But it seems Heimdall hears him all the same, and Thor dares a small, relieved laugh as the myriad pearlescent colors of the Bifrost surround him and hurtle him headlong toward Asgard.

~

“My prince,” Heimdall nods, as Thor steps into the Observatory. The Observatory looks as beautiful as ever, with its walls adorned by ornately carved golden dials and its vast window to the skies.

Thor inclines his head. “Heimdall. How fare my mother and father in my absence?”

Heimdall blinks, once. “The king continues to rule Asgard and keep the peace in the Realms, while the queen keeps to herself, weaving at her loom and tending her gardens.”

“And the Warriors Three?” Thor asks, hopeful. “Sif?”

“I have seen them along the borders of Alfheim, on a hunt. They are due back on the morrow.”

“Ah,” says Thor, feeling a keen sting of disappointment; he had hoped to recruit Sif and the Warriors Three to his cause on Midgard, for their insight and brute manpower both. 

He takes his leave of Heimdall, and makes his way to the throne room, where he knows his father will be seated. Odin’s lack of surprise at Thor’s presence suggests he has seen the Midgardians’ plight from Hliðskjálf , and he makes no pretence at asking Thor if he is here to finally take over the throne. 

“Father,” Thor nods respectfully, as he approaches the dais. 

“Am I?” Odin asks drily. “I rather believe you think me an infinite vein of gold instead, to be mined when you have need of its riches. Is it not true that you only return to this realm when you wish to beg a boon of me?”

Thor feels something inside him curl up with guilt, but he stands his ground. “Father, the Midgardians, they suffer from a disease. One that turns them into shambling, mindless versions of themselves, bent only on consuming the flesh of the living. They need—”

“ _Silence_ ,” Odin roars. “I know what you have come for, and I tell you this: the apples of Iðunn are not meant for human consumption.” He rises from his throne, drawing himself to his full height. As he does so, the base of Gungnir strikes the floor, lending weight to the Allfather’s words.

“Their whole race is under threat of extinction,” Thor argues. “The Midgardians perish even as we speak.” He softens his voice. “You once banished me for trying to destroy an entire realm. Standing by and doing nothing while the Midgardians under my protection perish would be tantamount to the same.”

“And do you speak on behalf of this realm for its mortals whose lives you so claim to cherish, or for the existence you have eked out there with Loki?” Odin says archly, lifting a brow. 

Thor ignores Odin’s jibe at the life he and Loki have built for themselves; what they have is their own and will not be sullied by their father’s opinion. “I have comrades there,” Thor says instead. “Good people, who struggle against all that would bring them to ruin. Searching for scraps of hope even when few exist.”

Odin sighs, and his next words are weary, as much as they are thoughtful. “My son,” he says, kneading his temples. “You cannot fight everyone’s battles.”

“No,” Thor agrees, for he has long since learned that even with the strength of his brother and Mjölnir behind him, he cannot fix all the ills of the world. “But I would fight the ones that _matter_. I had hoped you would see that.” 

Odin shakes his head and turns away, without gracing Thor with an answer. 

Thor inhales once, slowly; he knows when his pleas fall on deaf ears, and turns from the dais, to see the one person who has always stood by him, who is a mother first, before a queen.

~

“Oh, Thor,” Frigga breathes, as she leaves her loom and its half-woven tapestry to rush toward Thor. “I have _missed_ you so.”

“Mother,” laughs Thor, easily encircling her waist with his arms for a hug. He giggles as he suffers her too-worried embraces and kisses to his cheeks, though truth be told, it is not much suffering at all. 

“And your brother?” Frigga asks, between the flurry of worried touches to his face and shoulders and hair. “Where is Loki?”

“Ah,” Thor tries, “he could not—did not—” He cannot find words to cushion the blow that Loki did not want to come. “Loki is safe,” he offers at last. 

“I see,” Frigga says sadly. She lays her hands over Thor’s forearms, and he brings his hands up, instinctually, to hold hers in turn. “Thor, you must take care of your brother,” she says solemnly. 

Thor thinks of fine tremors beneath too-pale skin, of fingers clenched fearfully tight in Thor’s cloak, and renews his resolve. “I swear it,” he tells Frigga. 

She smiles, relieved. “Now then, let us speak of the nature of your visit.”

Thor relates the plight of the Midgardians. How the disease has devastated their population, and those that now survive live in constant fear of discovery or of becoming infected. He tells her of the fate of those who fall victim to the sickness, how they defy the laws of nature to rise once again, as draugar.

Frigga nods, troubled. “And you think Iðunn’s apples may cure this disease. Or protect against it.”

“I am not certain they will, but we must at try, at the least,” Thor says. He gives his mother a hopeful look.

“They will not be easy to procure,” Frigga replies, frowning. “Your father had the security on the orchards doubled before you arrived.”

“Oh,” says Thor, deflating. He has come so far, only to be thwarted by his own father’s machinations. 

“ _But_ ,” Frigga adds with a coy smile, as she lays a reassuring hand on Thor’s shoulder, “I think the guards will find that the queen of Asgard has her ways.”

She takes her leave of him then, an easy sway in her hips as she walks away, the confidence of one who knows they will have their way. Though her smile has dimmed a fraction when she returns, she presses a light bundle into his hands. 

“I am truly sorry, Thor,” Frigga says, as Thor peeks into the blanket and counts two of Asgard’s apples, perfect and golden even without the sun’s radiance upon them. “This is all Iðunn could spare for your cause. Especially in light of Odin’s new decree for the apples.”

Thor frowns—that the act of taking Iðunn’s apples could be considered treason now is not something that sits well with him, but he does not have the time to challenge this fact at present. “Thank you, mother,” he says, bowing his head. He places the apples in a satchel Loki had spelled for the purpose of holding them. “I am grateful that we procured any at all.” He had expected to come away with none, especially after Odin’s earlier outburst. 

“That is not the only gift I have for you,” Frigga says softly. She reaches nimble fingers into the folds of her dress, and brings forth two amulets, each a single metal disc bound by a thin, silver chain. “These are for you and Loki.”

Even without Loki’s natural affinity for seiðr, Thor can feel the hum of the amulets’ power, of the protective spells Frigga has woven within them. He lets his fingers skim the outer edges of the amulets, feeling the score of roughly carved runes.

“Thank you,” Thor says, “but what need have _I_ for this? I do not fear the draugar; I only fear for Loki to be hurt by them.” He pointedly does _not_ tell her about Loki’s dangerous encounter with them in the Midgardian pharmacy. 

“If you fear for him, you must have strength enough to protect the both of you,” Frigga chides, gentle. “Though perhaps, you should give Loki more credit. Depend on your brother, Thor. A burden shared is a burden halved.”

Thor nods; there is logic in his mother’s words, and he would do well to apply them once he returns to Midgard.

Frigga draws out another, longer bundle from the bottom-most drawer of her vanity. “This,” she says, “is for Loki alone. Something of his own, for the days to come.” Thor accepts the neatly wrapped package, and from the heft of it, judges it to be a pair of knives. “His other set must be dull by now,” adds Frigga, “as I imagine fighting the draugar does not allow one the time to take one’s knives to whetstone.”

Thor matches her grin with one of his own. “I am sure Loki will appreciate your gift.”

“I have given you all that I have prepared,” Frigga says, after Thor finishes tucking away her gifts for safekeeping. “And I understand time is of the essence, but Thor, will you not stay the night?” She lays a palm, gentle, on his cheek, and oh how Thor _does_ , just to bask in her tenderness and love, to enjoy the presence of his mother, whom he has not seen in so long. 

He allows himself a moment to revel in Frigga’s touch, turning his cheek into the softness of her fingers. Inhales the warm scent of citrus and sage from the breezy fabric of her dress, memorizing it so he can bring their mother’s warmth home to Loki. Though silent, Frigga smiles, as if she knows what Thor is doing.

“The sooner I bring the apples to our healers on Midgard, the sooner they can work toward a cure,” Thor replies at last, regretful. He traces careful fingers over the outline of the apples in his satchel. “As such, I should return to my friends.” _And Loki_ , he thinks. At the thought of him, Thor feels a heat suffuse his face, and tries to will away the thought of his brother. Of how his return might be welcomed, and—

Something of his thoughts must show in his expression, as Frigga laughs and pats his cheek. “Oh, _Thor_ ,” she laughs. “Your feelings for Loki are no secret. Nor are your worries and fears.” Frigga smiles. “Go to him. I am sure he worries the same for you.”

“Ah, but Mother?” Thor asks, and suddenly his voice sounds so much younger than it is. “When this misfortune on Midgard has been overcome, would you like to visit us? It does not have to be for long, but Loki would appreciate—Loki would like—”

Frigga smiles, the lines of her mouth and eyes alight with genuine pleasure. Thor does not miss the way her eyes flit, discreet, to her half-woven tapestry, of gold twined with green and crimson both, the delicate weave of her handwork a gift befitting kings. 

“I should like nothing more,” she says, quiet. “Now _go_. The road ahead of you is long, and I am sure Loki will reprimand you if you tarry for longer than he intends.” His mother tips him a perceptive wink, and Thor laughs even as he blushes.

He’s grown used to the frankness Loki inherited from their mother, but Frigga’s still catches him off-guard from time to time.

~

Thor decides to try his luck before he leaves, sneaking into Iðunn’s orchards to steal some apples. He had been hoping for a bushel.

He manages to steal _one_ , before receiving a bruised rib for his troubles.

~

Thor makes it all the way back to the Observatory before his advance is stilled by a pang of guilt; his visits to Asgard are few and far between, and this time he has come for little more than begging his parents’ assistance. He wonders if he should have taken up his mother’s offer of staying the night, as his chambers would be properly maintained, ready for his stay at any time. And it _would_ be nice, to see the Warriors Three and Sif once more before he leaves. To hear Fandral’s complaints of Volstagg having eaten through a week of their hunt’s provisions in one sitting. For Hogun to impart his rare, but precious advice. To be subject to Sif’s surprisingly refreshing candidness.

But he has left Loki alone for far too long already, and he misses the barb of Loki’s dry wit. The warmth of his presence, which for long years Thor took for granted. The heat of his touch, fevered and passionate.

“Heimdall,” Thor nods in greeting. “How fare Loki and my friends on Midgard?” Perhaps if all is well in the middle realm, he can stay the night. Just long enough to enjoy his mother’s company and see his friends’ safe return from their hunt, and not a moment longer. 

Heimdall turns from where he gazes out into the cosmos, standing sentinel for all of Asgard. “Loki has often hidden himself from my sight,” he replies. “But this time…” Heimdall pauses thoughtfully, then narrows his eyes. “This time, he cloaks yet others in the same shadows. I can see neither him nor your friends.”

Thor pales instantly, his hand tightening hard around the satchel, containing his hard-won prizes from Iðunn’s orchards, and possibly Midgard’s only hope for a cure. Sif and the Warriors Three will have to wait, and though his heart aches at the thought of not seeing them for another long while, it is nothing in the face of his overwhelming need and worry for Loki.

At this, he feels another sharp stab of guilt, that his first concern was for Loki and not his friends or Midgard, for whom he procures these apples.

“Heimdall,” Thor chokes out, “please, I must return to—I need to—” He stumbles over his words, unable to give voice to the worries that reverberate in his mind, of _Is Loki safe, Is Loki all right, LokiLokiLoki._

With a knowing nod, Heimdall steps up to the dais and activates the Bifrost.

~

By the time Thor makes his way back to the Avengers tower, he discovers things have gone from bad to worse: draugar have begun to swarm, thick, around the lower levels of the tower, somehow sensing the presence of still-living beings.

Steve recruits him to the effort of barricading the lower levels and fortifying the glass with the furniture that they can spare, namely moveable desks, coffee tables, and heavy light fixtures. Meanwhile, Loki and the others monitor the perimeter, making sure that none of the draugar come close enough to shatter the thick glass, Loki with his seiðr and Tony and Clint with repulsor blasts and explosive arrows at the ready. 

Tony always said that Stark Tower, as it was originally named, had been built to be the epitome of technological comfort, not a place for a remaining pocket of the human race to stage their last stand. 

“Loki?” Thor whispers later, after he and Loki fall into bed fully-clothed, exhausted from their efforts. He has yet to bring the apples to Tony and Bruce, but he and his brother have been granted a short repose from their duties for now. “Loki.” Thor snuggles closer, looping his arms around Loki and reeling him in, until Loki’s back is pressed against Thor’s chest. “Are you awake?”

“I am _now_ ,” Loki says irritably. He turns in Thor’s arms, and at Thor’s hurt expression, gentles his voice. “What is it?”

“I thought I might share with you the gifts mother graced us with, when I visited Asgard. Especially the one for you alone. _But_ ,” Thor says, with a sly curl of his lip, “if you are too tired, they can wait.”

Loki sits up instantly, the very picture of spryness and vitality. “No, not too tired at all.” His eyes gleam as Thor draws Frigga’s gifts from the hiding spot beneath their bed.

“You could at least _try_ to feign a little indifference,” Thor huffs, laughing. Loki rolls his eyes and holds his hands out eagerly as Thor tips an amulet into his palms. 

“Interesting,” Loki notes, hefting the amulet in a single hand. When Thor lifts a brow in question, Loki elaborates, “The protective spells laid upon on it are standard, but the nature of the basest charm—it is simple, yet elegant.” He traces the pattern at its centre, of a tiny longship engulfed in flames. “Our mother is skilled indeed,” he murmurs, fond. 

“Are you going to explain the nature of this charm, or will I have to wring it from you?” Thor asks. He lets his fingers creep into the spaces beneath Loki’s arms, thinking to tickle the answer from his brother. 

Loki twists away pre-emptively. “ _Thor_ ,” he says, batting away Thor’s insistent hands, his lips set in a tight line. “The charm is for protection against the dead.”

“Oh.” Something in Loki’s tone—worry, perhaps, or fear—spurs Thor into action; the sooner Loki is wearing the amulet, the better. He takes it from Loki’s hand and slips it over Loki’s head, making to fasten it behind his neck, when Loki’s fingers close over Thor’s wrist, stilling him.

“We have no need for these,” Loki says. “You should give them to your friends. It will ward them from the dead, as long as they take care not to draw attention to themselves.” He pauses, waving a careless hand. “Perhaps the archer and the assassin, neither of whom have the advantage of a metal suit or supersoldier serum. Or, Norns forbid, latent _gamma radiation_.” His lips curls into a moue of distaste at that, and Thor laughs; despite the years, Loki has not outgrown his animosity toward Bruce’s alter ego.

It also strikes him that this is Loki being considerate in his own subtle way, and such a swell of affection surges in Thor’s chest that he starts pressing short, happy kisses to the corner of Loki’s mouth, his cheeks, and his eyes, before nuzzling Loki’s nose with his. Thor’s Midgardian friends have since informed him that this is called an ‘eskimo kiss’, and he makes it a point to give Loki at least one such demonstration of his love each day. 

“All _right_ , Thor,” Loki says, mashing his palm to Thor’s face to ward him off. “I swear, you are worse than an infant snow beast of Jotunheim in your affections.”

Thor furrows his brow as he draws back. “When have you encountered their infant snow beasts?” Knowing Loki, he asks more specifically, “When did you attempt to raise one? _Have_ you attempted to—”

“No,” snaps Loki, “though I imagine their countenance would be much the same as yours: eager to please and easily impressed.”

“Oh? As _you_ were, with Mother’s seiðr when we were young? As you still are?” Thor teases, touching his finger to the tip of Loki’s nose. When Loki appears positively mutinous, ready to fling Thor off him, Thor reaches for the carefully concealed set of daggers he brought with him, to soothe Loki’s temper. “A gift from Mother,” he says, “for you alone. She sends her love.”

Loki’s mouth falls open in surprise as he accepts the package and undoes the bindings. The way his eyes shine as he slides the pad of his thumb along the blades, reverent, fills Thor’s chest with an aching fondness. Moments like these are what he lives for: tiny pockets of time when Loki casts aside his façades, his expressions briefly those of genuine wonder and delight. And when Loki finishes marvelling at the knives, Thor presses his advantage, pushing into Loki’s space and nuzzling his cheek against Loki’s, acting the conduit for Frigga’s warmth, from across the universe and a distance light years away.

“Mmhn,” muses Loki, when Thor draws back and presses his thumb to Loki’s lower lip to kiss him, messy and wet. “ _That_ did not come from Mother.”

Thor smiles, sheepish. “That was all _me_ ,” he says, mimicking one of Tony’s favourite phrases when claiming credit for something. He nudges at Loki’s shoulders, until both he and Loki are splayed out along the bed, and starts mouthing kisses under Loki’s clothes. Reacquaints himself with the dip of Loki’s navel. The soft hair that trails beneath it, to the curve of Loki’s cock against his thigh. The sweet dampness of his—

Loki makes a strangled, startled sound. “Wait. Your friends. The apples,” he pants. His voice is tight with need, and Thor thinks he very much wants to fulfill that need, again and again until they are both sated and spent.

“We—we will not be long,” Thor says, and instantly berates himself for his clumsy answer. He means _I have missed you. I worried for you._ And the more maudlin _Now that I have you, I will not let you go._

Loki snorts, but when he sighs and draws Thor into his arms, Thor knows Loki has seen the answer in his heart. And when they lie together, Thor shows him just how much he has missed Loki, has suffered for want of him, his heart a jagged half remade whole in Loki’s presence.

~

After the physical fortifications to the tower have been tested and hold fast, Thor brings his satchel up to the makeshift laboratory that Tony and Bruce have set up in one of the highest floors of the tower. He unfurls the satchel’s contents carefully onto a lab bench, breathing a sigh of relief, that the apples had not been harmed in his return crossing of the Bifrost.

From beside him, Loki blinks nonchalantly at the presence of the apples, a reminder of the realm he has willingly forsaken at present. He had little sympathy for Thor’s story about the trial it was to obtain them. 

“If Odin did not want you to have the apples, you would not have _any_ ,” Loki had said. 

“Oh.” Thor had been quiet, contemplative. He still has yet to unravel mystery of their father’s ways. 

“Uh, okay,” Tony says now. He quirks a brow as the apples roll into place on the table. “So you took the rainbow ride not to go talk to your dad, but to bring us fruit? Not to sound terribly ungrateful, but food isn’t the major concern anymore.”

Thor inhales once to calm himself, resisting the urge to remind Tony that not two days past, Loki had nearly died for their food-hunting efforts. “These fruits I bring from Asgard have curing powers of a sort,” he explains. “Loki and I thought you might find a way to isolate their essence. In order to create an antidote for the disease running rampant in this realm.”

Bruce examines the gleam of the apples, sliding his fingers, careful, over their golden skin. “Are these the apples of legend?” he asks. “The apples of Iðunn, or whatever?” 

“Yes,” Thor says, surprised, at the same time Loki says, “No”. 

Loki throws him a vicious glare that has Thor wanting to curl in on himself, thunderer or no.

Tony simply laughs at their exchange and examines one of the apples at eye level. “These look pretty delicious,” he says. “We should make something with them.” Tony raises his eyebrows suddenly and jabs the air in front of Loki. “I’ve got it—apple pie.”

Loki makes a strangled sort of squawking noise, as if personally affronted and glares at him. “These are apples, as your colleague says, of _legend_. Use them wisely, Stark.” With that, he sweeps out of the lab with a righteous huff.

“Can you believe that guy?” Tony says to no one in particular, pointing his thumb in the direction Loki left in. “I mean, who doesn’t like apple pie?”

~

The next hours bring with them a tense monotony: Bruce and Tony have carefully pared away the apples’ skin, and set out to extract the apples’ juices while saving the seeds. They waste no part of the apples, aware of how difficult it was to procure them.

Loki hovers, half out of worry and half from disapproval of their usage, but Thor patiently explains that their friends are being careful with the apples. Distracts him with the other task set to them, which is to capture one of the draugr from outside, to use as a test subject. 

“Wow, that is a _fresh_ one,” Tony remarks, when an hour later, Thor returns with a draugr slung over his shoulder, squirming and twisting uselessly, its maw and limbs bound tight by thick, coiled ropes of Loki’s seiðr. 

They discover very quickly that sedation does not work on draugar; somehow their physiology has changed enough that the usual sedation agents are rendered ineffective. Steve ends up having to tie it to a chair with actual rope and makeshift straps, reinforcing its bindings, and they keep it in a part of the laboratory that is sectioned off with tempered glass. 

“Wait, are you seriously suggesting we babysit this thing?” Clint asks, jerking his chin behind him to where the draugr struggles in its bindings, attempting to throw its body toward the glass. The other Avengers have gathered in the lab to view the specimen that Thor has brought in, and the consensus is that no one is pleased this creature remains so close to their dwellings. 

“Uh, _yeah_ , unless you want it to break free and infect everyone,” says Tony. He turns to the others. “I want teams of two, around the clock, when Bruce and I aren’t in the lab.”

Thor nods his agreement. “It would not do to risk the safety of everyone in this tower for the sake of not having a guard.” He wraps subtle fingers around Loki’s waist, looks toward him for acknowledgment, and gets it, however reluctant. “Loki and I can take the first watch.”

“Great, yes!” Tony says enthusiastically, as if by volunteering for guard duty, Thor has solved all the problems of the world. “You and Loki, followed by Clint and Natasha. Steve, sorry, but can you handle the watch on your own?”

“If anything happens,” Steve says solemnly, “I’m sure I can take it on. And do what needs to be done.” It goes without saying, that should Steve fall in his attempt, the others too, must do what needs to be done.

Within five hours, Tony and Bruce manage to create a viable extract of Iðunn’s apples and after properly dosing it, they inject the draugr on a strict schedule, of one injection per day. It would not do to waste all their resources in one go. 

The draugr shows no progress in the first week. 

By the second week, the draugr appears more hollow-bellied from hunger, but there is still no reversion to its human form; no casting off of its rotting skin and sunken teeth to regain its original humanity. 

The third week of trials shows no improvement on the draugr’s part, aside from the fact that the creature behind the glass has not starved to death, and has not fallen apart from lack of nutrition, its body kept intact and preserved by the extracts from Iðunn’s apples. Thor watches Tony and Bruce shake their heads and share a look, their lips pressed into thin, grim lines, as they are forced to a simple conclusion:

The dead stay dead. 

From behind the wall of tempered glass, Loki sighs at their latest, fruitless experiment. 

“You knew this would happen?” Thor asks, resigned. 

“I suspected as much,” Loki says. “But I thought to let them try. In case of—” Loki stops. “In case I was wrong,” he finishes lamely. 

“I, too, had hoped—” Thor starts, before words fail him, much as the results of Tony and Bruce’s experiment fail them. 

“I know,” Loki says, quiet. “Ever the optimist, were you not?” He squeezes Thor’s hand, twining their fingers together, a gesture Thor finds immensely reassuring. Taps at his chin with his free hand, thoughtful. “There may yet be another way.” 

“Oh? And what is that?”

Loki hums and keys in the code for the makeshift laboratory to enter. Brings his free hand up in a sharp, slashing motion, killing the draugr where it stands, ignoring Tony’s squawk of surprise and Bruce’s recoil backward from the bloody bisection of its head. 

“Did you just—you can’t just—you _killed our only test subject_!” Bruce sputters, attempting to wipe himself clean of the blood and grime sprayed over him. 

“If, at any point,” Loki says to the three of them at once, “you decide to focus your efforts on those who are living, instead of attempting to save those lost, we may have a fighting chance.” He looks pointedly toward their meagre store of what is left of the apples. “Our resources are not infinite.”

Tony looks down at the rumpled heap of draugr, bleeding sluggishly out into the tiled white flooring. “Okay, yeah, I’d be down with that. This experiment was a bust anyway.”

Bruce sighs and nods his acquiescence with the idea. 

No one says anything when Loki cleans up the mess with seiðr, though Thor feels a twinge of sadness as Loki warps the draugr’s body away into nothingness. The draugr was a person once, someone with real hopes and dreams, before the infection robbed them of their humanity. Turned them into a husk of their former self, one bent on the rabid consumption of flesh. Before the body disappears completely, Thor catches sight of the rags it was wearing, muddied cloth that looks as if it could have been a dress, of bright summer print, with flowers embroidered along the edges. 

It strikes him then that the draugr was a _she_ , not a _they_. That she might once have been someone’s mother; a daughter, even. 

Now, it is as if she never existed at all.

~

On Loki’s recommendation, Tony and Bruce turn their attentions toward the possibility of using the apples’ essence to prevent the disease. It is not a true vaccine they strive to make, as even the smallest amount of infection has been known to result in death and reawakening. It should, however, if all goes well, prevent those who are bitten or otherwise attacked from changing.

“Obviously, this does jack-all if the horde decides to go to town and have their own all-you-can-eat, but each person that doesn’t turn is just one less draugr to deal with, right?” says Tony, as he presses a pipette’s worth of liquid into a clear vial. 

He says this with a brightness that is too earnest to be genuine. Perhaps he still mourns for Pepper, but his time in the lab with Bruce and his new purpose in finding a form of prevention has done wonders for lifting Tony’s spirits. 

While Tony and Bruce work out the new numbers and dosages needed—they must dose it even more carefully now, as their subjects will be live humans, themselves, even—Loki conceals the tower with cloaking and silencing spells when he can sustain them. Everyone stays as quiet as they can so as to not strain Loki’s efforts, and Tony himself has long since disabled J.A.R.V.I.S.’ voice patterns within the tower, switching instead to text-based alerts. 

In the meantime, the other Avengers continue their regimen of weekly food-scavenging efforts. 

It’s another routine run for Clint and Natasha, armed with their usual weaponry and the amulets Frigga provided, when everything goes to Hel. 

The call comes in while Thor is helping Loki create a stronger barrier around the tower; he presses runes, imbued with basil and blood, into the glass with his fingers as Loki intones his enchantments, to fortify the lower levels against the ever increasing number of draugar gathered there.

“ _Mayday_ ,” Clint says urgently, as their earpieces crackle to life. The Avengers continue to communicate on a special comm link Tony sustains via the tower’s power. “Mayday, mayday. Draugar swarm. Requesting backup. On Rivington Street, between Essex and Norfolk.”

Thor looks to Loki, panicked; Tony and Bruce are in the lab, and Tony will need time to suit up. Steve cannot fly without assistance. “Loki.” He touches his brother’s arm. 

Loki clutches Thor’s forearm, his fingers like eagle’s claws, tight. “No,” he says, pale. “Thor, _no_.”

There is no time to argue; Thor wraps his hand tight around Mjölnir’s haft. “I must,” he says. He drops a kiss to Loki’s hair and takes to the sky with Mjölnir at the ready. 

By the time he arrives at Rivington Street, Clint and Natasha have run out of ammunition, forced to resort to close quarters combat weapons. 

“Thor!” Clint calls, as loudly as he dares. “I’ve never been so glad to see you in my life.” He shoves his knife through the eye socket of a draugr. Pulls it out again with a _schunk_ , only to drive it into the brain of the next. 

“Shut up,” snarls Natasha. She grits her teeth against the spray of blood that mars her face as she slips a dagger into a nearby draugr. “And keep _killing_.”

That he and Natasha have lasted this long can only be attributed to the amulets, and Thor makes a mental note to thank his mother the next time he sees her. For now, he concentrates on beating back the swarm, swinging Mjölnir in short, swift arcs, momentum building with each motion. Their rotten bodies shatter under his might, though he takes no pleasure from their destruction. 

It is only when Clint yelps in surprise that Thor realizes there is a new group of draugar swarming from his right, and there is suddenly no room to swing Mjölnir, no place for her to protect him. He throws his other hand up to shield himself while trying to tear Mjölnir free, which is when sharp, jagged teeth rip into his hand. There is barely time to register the pain when another draugr sinks teeth deep into his thigh. 

He wrenches Mjölnir free of the grasping, clawing hands and slams her into the ground, creating a shockwave that throws the draugr back, stunning them, and Clint and Natasha rush over to help as he dispatches them, caving their heads in one after another. When the last of the draugar lie dead along the pavement, he hitches Mjölnir back on his belt just as Natasha and Clint hurry to his side. 

“Thor? Thanks for coming for us,” Clint says, but his voice seems too far away, fading in and out of focus like a faulty radio. Thor tries to stand up straight, to tell Clint to think nothing of his coming, but he stumbles forward into Clint’s arms instead. 

“Thor? You okay there, buddy?” Clint asks. His face goes pale, quickly. “Oh. _Shit_.” 

Thor notices then the stream of blood flowing sluggishly from his hand. The dull throb of another from his thigh. “Oh,” he says stupidly. “I—I’ve been—”

“Take it easy,” Natasha says, crouching to his level. She fashions a crude tourniquet from the hem of her jacket for his hand, while Clint quickly cinches his belt over the wound in Thor’s thigh. She and Clint share a significant look when she feels Thor’s forehead. 

Thor’s vision is starting to become fuzzy around the edges, too blurry as his head swims, and his _head_ —his head is too hot by half, his body is _burning_ , his throat parched. It feels as if he has fallen into the core of Muspelheim itself. “Water,” he croaks. 

“We’ve got water back at the tower,” Natasha insists, as she and Clint hike him to his feet and tug him along.

Thor tries to fight them off; he is six hundred pounds of dead weight now, and by all rights, they should leave him here to perish among the draugar. Not bring him back where he could infect the others. “Leave me,” he mumbles. His only regret is that he will never again see—

“Loki,” Natasha says simply, bracing her arm along Thor’s shoulders.

“Loki?” Thor echoes. His brother, his lover, his _everything_. He stops fighting the arms that support his bulk, but still his throat is too dry, too parched, his world blurring around the edges, vision swimming further with each step he takes. His skin feels fever-hot.

Clint reaches out and hefts a solid arm across his waist. “Loki,” he says fiercely into Thor’s ear.

“Loki,” Thor whispers back, his voice breaking with the effort. He takes another step, then another, to the quiet susurrus of Natasha and Clint saying, _Loki, Loki, Loki_ as if he is something to live for, to never stop fighting for. 

Thor slips from their grasp numerous times; neither of his friends are built to portage an Asgardian, let alone over long distances and in such perilous areas, but each time they reach out and heft him higher onto their shoulders. Grasp him more securely. “We’ve got you, Thor,” says Clint. “We’ve got you.”

They make the long, arduous trek back to the tower, taking multiple detours, back roads and cramped alleyways, until they find the little-used entry to the Avengers tower. Together, Natasha and Clint drag Thor inside. Tony, somehow alerted to their presence—likely a courtesy of J.A.R.V.I.S.’ all-seeing capabilities—rushes down to meet them.

“Jesus _fuck_ ,” says Tony, his eyes wide, horrified at the sight of Thor.

Thor wonders if it is for fear that they will soon have an undead god on their hands. Or that one of their own has been infected. If in his friends’ heart of hearts they have already decided which of them will have to kill him, to put him out of his misery if he _does_ turn. 

He opens his mouth to croak out one word that might save his life, or be his last request. “Loki,” he gasps. 

If he turns, this is the person he wants to see before he goes. “ _Loki_ ,” he rasps again, making a sluggish flailing motion, and around him, he can hear the panicked cries of _Someone get his brother here now_ , and _No, you are lying, not Thor—never Thor_. Then there are hands, pale and cool, stroking his brow, a small comfort in the face of the day he has had, and Thor clings to them, desperate.

A prick of pain at his neck follows immediately after, and everything goes mercifully, painlessly dark.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Your body is mine,” Loki rasps. "Your _everything_. From the follicle of each hair, each flake of your skin, to each precious pearl of your blood. Every part of you is _mine_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Zombie AU. Written to sate my desire for Thor/Loki-centric apocalyptic fiction. Title from Tolkien’s Ring verse.

~

When Thor next wakes, he finds he is sprawled along the bed he and Loki share, the lights in their room dimmed to a soft, pleasing amber. It is a moment more before he realizes they are not lights at all, and instead candles, their flames throwing dark, flickering shadows along the wall.

“Loki?” Thor croaks, shifting beneath the sheets. They scratch at his skin, but are comfortably warm at the least, not the searing heat that anything brushing his skin had felt before. He tries to rise from the bed, before collapsing in pain coupled with fatigue.

At the sound of Thor’s voice, Loki sets down the candle he was tending to, and hurries over. It’s only then he sees Loki up close, with dark shadows lurking beneath his red-rimmed eyes. Loki had likely stayed up all night with Thor, healing him with what seiðr he could, or determining another way to combat the infection.

He sighs as he takes in Thor’s form, hands resting lightly on the coverlet. “Thank the Norns,” Loki mouths to the air, his voice barely above a whisper. He casts his eyes to the ceiling, and closes them as if in prayer. “Thank you.” To Thor he says, “You must rest.”

“Water?” Thor asks, hopeful. 

Loki nods and cradles Thor’s head, helping him tip water into his mouth; too much motion on Thor’s part results in pain that lances through his hand and leg like lightning, sharp. 

He twitches Loki’s sleeve after, as a gesture of thanks, too tired to do much else. “Loki,” Thor mumbles. He wishes he could bury his face in Loki’s hair and inhale its sweet scent. Wrap his arms around Loki beneath the sheets, and fit his knees in behind Loki’s until they are slotted together like two perfect pieces of a puzzle. Loki is warmth and safety and everything lovely, and the absence of him now stings more keenly than Thor can bear.

“Thor,” Loki murmurs in reply. Thor watches him furtively wipe at the corner of his eyes, like there might be tears forming. Rubbing his eyes as if emotion is a weakness and too much of him will be exposed if Loki does not rid his face of the scant evidence there is.

For a moment, Thor entertains the idea that those _are_ tears Loki is wiping away, and the thought that Loki might cry for him is oddly flattering. He feels the need to reach out, to brush away the tears, be they real or imagined, but his hand is a numb, dead weight, and shifting even the slightest bit brings with it a fresh onslaught of pain. 

Something of his hopes to touch Loki, even just the smallest bit of contact, must show on his face, as Loki shuffles over and brushes his hand over Thor’s forehead. Thor whines at the contact; it’s too much, too soon, and he thrashes to throw even Loki’s candle-warmed hands off him. Loki shrinks back, affronted, but Thor makes immediate amends; he reaches out with his uninjured hand to twitch fingers against Loki’s wrist, even if the touch sears his fingers, to reassure.

“Read to me, brother,” Thor rasps. And even when the candles Loki has lit burn to nothing, Loki summons mage-lights, orbs of warm, peridot green that illuminate the room, and reads aloud over the sound of hoarse rattling and scavenging outside. As Loki reads, he strokes gentle fingers through Thor’s hair, until at last, Thor is lulled into a deep, dreamless sleep once again.

~

The next time Thor comes to, the room is dark, lit only by the wan, flickering lights of nearby skyscrapers, likely drawing from their last dregs of power. Only a few are still standing, the rest bombed within an inch of their life or destroyed in the initial air strikes. Several sections of the Avengers tower itself had collapsed after the initial damage from the Midgardian military. When Midgard still had a military.

Thor reaches out questing fingers, fumbling for a light, along with the blind hope to find Loki’s hand in the near-dark. He finds Loki sitting in a chair beside him, and touches his fingers to Loki’s knuckles, his arm. Loki’s touch no longer burns, and for this one small thing, Thor is so immensely grateful that a tear rolls down his cheek, unbidden.

Loki snorts awake at Thor’s tentative fingers along his arm, and raises an inquiring brow. When Thor nods his acquiescence, Loki sheds everything but his trousers, slipping beneath the covers with him. Presses slowly against Thor, letting his chest rest against Thor’s back, his knees slotting in behind Thor’s, a cool, comforting weight.

“How long have I been asleep?” whispers Thor. 

Loki shrugs, a roll of his shoulder that nudges Thor’s into echoing the motion. “Not long.” His deliberate vagueness suggests that it has been more than mere hours. Days, perhaps?

“Lokiii.” Thor squeezes the hand that’s wound its way over his belly, curled tight and fiercely protective. 

There is a sigh, a soft puff of breath against Thor’s ear. “Two days,” Loki admits finally. “It would have been longer had I not stolen back what was left of the apples to hasten your recovery.” 

Thor opens his mouth to chastise him about the apples—those had been for _science_ , for a _cure_ —when Loki leans over and silences him with a kiss, lips pressing over as much of Thor’s as he can reach. 

“Before you say anything,” Loki sniffs haughtily, “rest assured that I duplicated the apples for our research division.” He frowns against Thor’s mouth. “The duplicates are not as potent, but they will serve for their purposes.”

Thor harrumphs anyway. It is just like Loki not to let the Avengers have the real apples in the end, but when Loki leans in slow, his breath hot against Thor’s neck, Thor finds he cannot complain, shivering instead at the warmth. Leans back into the kiss Loki presses into the space behind his ear. They shift naturally in the bed, each knowing what the other wants, and Loki goes on pressing soft, nibbling kisses along Thor’s jaw. Down the smooth column of Thor’s throat. Thor forgets himself, bringing a hand up to slide his fingers through Loki’s hair, and at the motion, he sucks in a tense breath; pain, now a dull throb, shoots through his hand all the same. 

“Idiot,” Loki mouths into Thor’s neck. He lifts Thor’s hand to examine it. The wound beneath the dressing is still raw and red, but mostly healed, with clean edges and no signs of the telltale rot that plagues those infected. Loki fixes the dressing back in place after he has examined it. He does not touch the wound on Thor’s thigh, which still aches when he moves. Instead, he lifts Thor’s uninjured arm, curling closer into Thor’s side. 

“Loki.” Realization strikes Thor, quick and unexpected, and he swallows past the lump building in his throat. “You should not have gotten into the bed with me, never mind being in the same room. Had I turned into a draugr, you would have—” 

“You are long past the time permitted for the change to happen,” Loki says frankly. “ _But_ ,” he adds, cutting Thor’s protest off at the root, “if you _had_ turned, I…I would have turned with you.” He turns his head to nose at Thor’s jawline. “We would take this realm together. Remake them in our image.” Loki smiles, all teeth and sharp edges. 

Thor knows Loki is only trying to lighten the mood; had they actually turned, there would be no realm-taking, as they would be driven by mindless hunger. He rolls over in the circle of Loki’s arms, and kisses the corner of his mouth. Tastes the right mixture of sweetness and tart, but there is something else Thor cannot quite identify—

“Oh,” Thor breathes softly, the moment he places the taste of tears. Of salt and desperation and grief. So Loki _would_ mourn for him. And none would have known the depth of his grief, because Loki had kept it hidden so well that even Thor had not known until now. “Oh, _Loki_.”

“I am glad you saw fit to come back in one piece,” Loki says, as tonelessly as he can. Visibly struggles to feign nonchalance, even as a new, treacherous tear escapes, cresting the curve of Loki’s cheek and stinging Thor’s face where it is pressed to Loki’s. As if there is shame in Thor seeing him at his most vulnerable, and that he must throw walls up around himself, before anyone sees the quivering mess of emotions. 

Thor is glad he knows this Loki now, knows not to believe the false indifference, the way Loki makes it sound as if the loss of his brother would have meant nothing, when it would have meant _everything_. That Loki feels the need to hide his concern behind this false mask at all makes Thor want to pelt him with warm, reassuring kisses and cradle Loki in his arms, such that he will not need to hide, _cannot_. 

He does just that, winding his hands over the jut of Loki’s hips and pulling him in close. Presses gentle, breathy kisses to Loki’s brow, the lids of his eyes, his mouth. Takes a moment to appreciate the way dark lashes fan over pale cheeks, before laying kisses enough to both cheeks until twin spots of crimson blossom in them, like the ripest of Midgard’s peaches, and deciding that Loki would be just as sweet. And when Loki looks up at him, eyes wide with surprise at this new tenderness, he kisses Loki’s shoulder, just an extra press of reassurance, because Loki can always use more.

“I missed you,” Loki whispers, barely audible, his arms curling behind Thor’s shoulders. Then more sure: “ _I missed you_.”

“I missed you too,” Thor laughs softly, before the effort of that takes its toll on his injury and his brows knit tight with pain. He curls shaky fingers around Loki’s wrist, clutching at Loki for comfort as he breathes through the sudden hurt.

“No, _no_ , don’t exert yourself,” Loki hisses. Thor can feel Loki pressing his face into Thor’s shoulder, breathing in hard, as if by breathing in time with Thor, and taking in his scent, no matter how rank he is with blood and sweat, he can affirm Thor is _alive_.

Thor extends his hand slowly this time, enough to stroke Loki’s hair, and Loki allows it. It’s a gesture Loki always found annoying, as Thor would muss up his hair, but perhaps Loki knows how close they came to losing it, this small act of fondness that was taken for granted, because something seems to snap inside Loki and he makes a broken, hurt sound as he burrows into Thor’s side, clinging and desperate.

“Loki. My Loki,” Thor soothes, and even though they have been of roughly the same height for so long, Thor gathers Loki into his arms and presses Loki’s head to his chest, an age-old gesture that comforts and reassures Loki like nothing else short of their mother’s embrace does. Presses soft kisses to Loki’s hair as he cards through the fine strands with his fingers. “What must I do, to ease your heart?” he murmurs, mindful of the way Loki trembles in his arms. “What will it take, to assure you I am well?”

“You are _not_ well,” Loki says crossly. He nips Thor’s neck with his teeth, as if to prove his point somehow. 

“I am well enough,” Thor insists. Loki only huffs and breathes silently into Thor’s neck, letting himself go limp, his body moving only with Thor’s breaths. “Well enough to do _this_ , at least.” Thor grins, mimicking Loki’s smile, all teeth and sharpness, as he palms the front of Loki’s trousers. 

Loki moans and presses into Thor’s touch but he draws back just as suddenly. “You are not well enough, and we are _not_ doing this,” he says, rolling away from Thor, curling into the beginnings of a petulant ball before Thor throws his weight against Loki, stopping him. He rests his arms around Loki’s waist, his head lolling lazily on Loki’s shoulder.

“I want you,” Thor says stubbornly, sliding his hand over the bulge in Loki’s trousers. “I want you so _much_.” He rolls Loki onto his side and tucks his face into Loki’s neck, winding his limbs around Loki until Thor is clinging to him like a limpet. Until Loki has no choice but to give in. 

Loki sighs into Thor’s hair. “All _right_.” He braces hands against Thor’s shoulders and pushes Thor onto his back, careful. “But if you want this, we will do this _my_ way.”

“Your— _nngh_ ,” Thor manages, before Loki claims his mouth, sudden, rough and insistent, and then he’s pinching Thor’s nose shut, forcing his mouth to open wide for breath. Then there’s a tongue working its way down his throat, hot and wet and filthy and _oh_ Thor can’t breathe, can’t think, with Loki robbing him so thoroughly of breath, his lips sealed over every inch of Thor’s. “Loki,” he tries, before Loki wrenches another gasp from him, bruising the skin beneath his collarbone with a kiss that is all teeth followed by a sweet, soothing lick. 

The bruising, heated kisses continue down the length of his body: one above his right nipple, which is starting to pebble in the cold; then another and another following the line of his abdomen, and one just below his navel. Any lower, and Thor will—

It suddenly occurs to him that Loki is marking Thor as his _own_ , is laying down possessive bruises that leave no doubt about who Thor belongs to, and it doesn’t make sense, because Loki doesn’t _do_ that; he is always so confident in the knowledge, the truth that Thor is his. It’s always Thor who marks him like this, who is afraid that one day he may wake and find Loki has retreated into places known only to himself, retreated into _himself_ again, somewhere Thor cannot follow. 

“Loki.” Thor bites back a gasp of pain when Loki nips teeth just the wrong amount of sharp against his belly. “Stop. Please.”

“No,” Loki rasps, whisper-quiet. He rests his forehead against Thor’s stomach, as if he is ready to rub his face into it. “No, I will _not_ , until you realize.”

“Realize what?” Thor asks, as Loki’s fingers tremble where they are in contact with Thor’s arms. 

Loki raises his head to glare at Thor. “That you are _mine_ ,” he hisses. He slides his fingers down, digs them deep into the sides of Thor’s belly. “That you are not allowed to throw this body into reckless peril, because it belongs to _me_.”

“Loki, my friends were in danger—”

“If such danger calls, you will wait for me. So that we may watch each other’s backs.” He grips Thor’s injured hand, not hard, but Thor lets out a yelp of surprise. “This happened,” Loki whispers, “because _I was not there_.” He buries his face into Thor’s belly, shifting his way up until he’s safely in Thor’s arms again. “How dare you let those creatures taste the flesh of a god, when you belong to me?”

“I didn’t—”

“And how dare they partake of you,” Loki continues, silencing Thor with a greedy, sucking kiss that leaves Thor trembling beneath him, “when the only one fit to feast on your blood—” Loki nips Thor’s lip until a perfect pearl of blood rises to Loki’s waiting tongue. “—your flesh, is _me_?”

“Loki,” Thor whines, dizzy with want, as he shifts against Loki, hoping for friction. He wants _more_ : wants Loki’s tongue in his mouth, wants Loki’s cock to slide against his, and—they have not done it often—but for Loki to be inside him, to claim Thor in all the ways that he can. “ _Please_.”

Loki ignores Thor’s pleas. “You will have care with your life from now on,” Loki says, reinforcing the trail of bruises he made earlier, sucking the marks darker into his skin. “You will not throw yourself into danger.” He licks his way down Thor’s stomach, swirling his tongue at the navel, the way he might lick Thor’s cock if only he was a little lower. 

“Yes,” Thor whimpers, and Loki rewards him with a flick of tongue to the head of his cock, at the same time he punishes him, with light, feathery kisses to the slit that hardly give Thor the friction he needs, the sensations he _craves_. 

“Your body is mine,” Loki rasps. “Your essence.” He licks the head of Thor’s cock again, lapping the precome beading at the tip. “Your _everything_. From the follicle of each hair, each flake of your skin, to each precious pearl of your blood. Every part of you is _mine_ ,” Loki whispers, harsh against Thor’s skin. He bites a trail of rose-red bruises into Thor’s thighs, fingers leaving wine-dark marks on the insides of Thor’s knees. “Do you understand?” hisses Loki. 

“Yes,” Thor whispers, “ _yes_. Loki, _please_ —”

“Say the words,” Loki insists. He wraps his hand around Thor’s cock and squeezes, until it gives a desperate twitch, more precome welling up at the tip and spilling over Loki’s hand. “ _Say the words_ , so I know you have taken my lesson to heart.”

“I—I understand,” Thor gasps, whimpering at the burst of pain, the pleasure Loki holds just out of reach. 

“Good,” says Loki, sounding entirely too pleased. “You would do well not to forget it.” And finally, _finally_ , he takes the entirety of Thor’s length into the hot, wet heat of his mouth. 

Thor groans, savoring the sweet slide of Loki’s lips along the length of his cock. The soft wetness of his tongue laving the underside. The way his tongue swirls around the head and flicks along the slit, just the way Thor likes it. And just when Thor clenches his teeth, his legs pulling taut and balls tightening at the pleasure, Loki _hums_ , the bastard.

“Loki. Loki, I’m—” Thor manages, fingers twitching at Loki’s scalp, the tension at the base of his spine cresting until he’s about to spill.

Loki grins, wicked, and circles the base of Thor’s cock with a finger, binding it with a golden thread of seiðr. “You will have your pleasure,” says Loki, “but I shall take mine _first_.”

“Brother, _please_ ,” Thor begs. He wants Loki inside him, to fill him until Thor begs for mercy, pleading Loki for _harder, faster, more_ until he’s screaming for his own release. He fits his mouth to Loki’s, reveling in the taste of himself on Loki’s lips, the way Loki takes command of their kiss, sliding his tongue deep into Thor’s throat, but it’s not nearly enough—he wants Loki to fill him in every way, to plunge his tongue deeper into Thor’s mouth, to push himself into Thor until he finds the sweet nub of flesh that will have Thor crying out on every stroke. “Want you,” he breathes, and he wants so _much_ that his chest heaves with the effort. “Want you inside me.”

“Yes,” Loki hisses, pushing Thor back against the headboard, crawling his way up the length of Thor’s body, each press of his hands against Thor’s hips, his torso, his neck the practiced motions of a hunter stalking its prey.

Thor releases a breathy moan as Loki pushes apart Thor’s legs with his knees, his hands braced by Thor’s head. Tries and fails to hold in the needy sounds he makes when Loki seals their mouths together in a greedy kiss, one that leaves Thor’s lips swollen and red and steals the breath from his lungs, a desperate, hungry thing that lets Thor know just how much _Loki_ wants in return. He gasps into Loki’s mouth, a burning ache in his lungs for lack of air, and surges forward, to claim his fill of Loki’s taste and breathe his air. 

“ _Loki_ ,” Thor pleads. “Need you.” He rakes his fingers over the line of Loki’s pale shoulders, relishing the needy hiss that Loki makes. Takes pleasure in the way it makes Loki rut forward, his cock bumping into Thor’s belly, angry and red, leaking a trail down Thor’s navel. 

“Patience, Thor,” says Loki, but for all that, he presses two fingers into Thor at once, grinning sharp at the way he gasps at the intrusion. 

“Mmhnn.” Thor shifts his ass until it’s flush against the base of Loki’s fingers, trying to get used to the burn. When he feels sufficiently stretched, he hisses, “Give me you. _All_ of you. _Now_.” 

“Like this?” Loki asks coyly, guiding his cock to the tight ring of muscle, then letting it slide out and against the crease of Thor’s ass. He scrapes a fingernail against Thor’s cock, teasing. Swipes his thumb through the pool of precome pooling on Thor’s belly and dribbles it over Thor’s hole, before slicking his own cock with it. He presses his cock against Thor again, but just when Thor thinks Loki will press inside him, he slides out again on purpose, this time bumping against the flesh behind Thor’s balls.

“Enough,” Thor growls in frustration, and when Loki thinks to tease him again, sliding the head of his cock against the pucker of his ass, Thor surges forward, gripping Loki’s hips to press him down and _in_ , until—yes, _there_ —his cock presses the slightest bit inside, and Thor cries out, a soft yelp of surprise as Loki sinks into Thor. 

It is the only concession Loki allows him, as he wrests Thor’s hands from his hips and pins them on either side of the pillow.

“You will take what I give you,” Loki snarls, even as he sinks further in. He continues advancing, slow, pausing each time Thor whimpers or shivers at the pressure. And when he is all the way in, when his hips are flush with Thor’s, Loki stills, and they lie there, breathing each other’s air in the quiet darkness.

“Move,” Thor pleads. He bucks his hips even as Loki traps his wrists. Loki ignores him, laving his tongue along the line of Thor’s jaw, maddeningly still where they are connected. Thor attempts to sit up, to reach for Loki’s hips with eager hands, but Loki tightens his grip on Thor’s wrists, pressing them, painful, into the sheets. 

“You will remember what I have told you today,” he says, punctuating each word with a nipping kiss to the flesh of Thor’s neck. “Repeat the words back to me.”

“ _Loki_ ,” Thor protests, whining and straining against his restraints, soft and sinuous as they are. He tries again to shift his hips, to urge Loki to move, but Loki only laughs, low and wicked, and traps Thor beneath him with an extra hard push that digs into that spot inside him. Has Thor crying out, startled at the unexpected prod.

“The words, Thor,” Loki whispers, his voice harsh, his breath against Thor’s ear hot and wet like the brand of heat Thor is clenched around.

“My body,” Thor gasps into Loki’s neck. “My blood, my essence—everything—yours.”

“And?” prompts Loki softly. “What else?”

“My _life_. All of it, yours, Loki, please, _please_ —” The last word is little more than a sob.

At this, Loki allows their dynamic to shift, freeing Thor’s arms from his grasp. He lets Thor reach for him, and Thor _does_ , his hands closing greedily around Loki’s neck, his ankles digging into Loki’s back as he pulls Loki into him, guiding him deeper as Loki drives breathy cries from Thor by force.

“Loki— _Loki_ , please, _more_ —” Thor gasps, fingers curling shakily around Loki’s shoulders. 

“More,” Loki concedes, nodding. He wraps his arms under and around Thor’s shoulders, keeping him in place as he drives into Thor, with harsh, brutal thrusts that have Thor keening and twisting beneath him. 

_Yes_ , thinks Thor; this is what he wants, to have Loki close, to have Loki deep inside him, on him, in him, filling the space around Thor, an affirmation, a reassurance for both of them that they are here, that they are _alive_.

“Louder,” urges Loki, and Thor throws his head back and cries out all the harder, that Loki may know each gasp, each cry he wrings from Thor is all for _him_.

It must please Loki the way Thor thinks it does, because he grins into Thor’s neck, pressing kisses like promises into his skin. He whispers words of endearment, of love, of pet names they had for each other when they were young, into the hollow of Thor’s neck, the softness of his ear, his lips a brand of fire as he kisses Thor’s cheeks and nips at Thor’s lower lip. 

And when Thor’s cries turn into lengthy, incoherent moans, Loki urges Thor’s ankles off his back and slides them over his shoulders, pressing in deep again, until Thor is bent almost in half, barely able to breathe. Loki presses fingers into the curve of Thor’s shoulders, eager and hungry, thumbs clenching hard into his clavicles, the force of his grip heartened by the way Thor’s cock leaks against his own belly, proof of how much _he_ wants Loki in return. 

“Thor, I—” Loki gasps, strained. “I’m— _ah_ —” He braces himself to pull out of Thor before Thor wraps his arms around Loki’s shoulders and tugs him in.

“Spend inside me,” Thor breathes. “I want it. _I want it_.”

The words must trigger something in Loki, because he slams his hips in, once, twice, and spends with such force that Thor thinks he can feel it all the way up in his throat. He’s sure that if Loki had not spent inside him, it might have streaked across Thor’s torso, uneven dashes that would paint the length of Thor’s body, from navel to jaw. Loki chokes out a keening cry as he spills, his fingers scrabbling at Thor’s thighs for purchase, and his hand lights on Thor’s injured thigh, gripping hard. 

Thor winces, and without quite meaning to, whimpers in pain, a soft, hurt noise. Perhaps he could have bore it, had circumstances been different, but Loki has torn down his defences, has made him vulnerable in all the ways only Loki knows how, and the pleasure from before only makes the pain that lances through his leg all the more unbearable. 

“You fool,” Loki says, horrified, as a blot of fresh, crimson blood blooms beneath the bandage. He lets Thor’s legs slip from his shoulders, and slows the motion of his hips, realization having come at Thor’s cry of pain, so at odds with those of pleasure. “You _imbecile_. I told you were not well enough and _still_ —”

“Loki, please,” whispers Thor, and it borders on a whine with how desperate he is for it, despite the pain. “Finish this first.”

With a long-suffering sigh, Loki undoes the binding of seiðr around Thor’s cock and strokes him to completion, but spends the next while redressing Thor’s bandages, assessing the damage beneath. 

“You are supposed to let the apples _do their work_ ,” Loki says, waspish, though his voice lacks the edge he reserves for when he is truly angry.

“Yes, yes,” Thor nods, hiding a watery smile. He takes Loki’s scolding in stride because it’s punctuated with angry, nipping kisses. And when Loki has finished with dressing the injury, he cuddles against Thor’s chest, pushing his way into Thor’s arms. 

That is, until he remembers himself and rolls away from the comfort of Thor’s arms, vindictive.

By the time Thor is close to slumber, though, they are curled back together, pliant and warm like two cozy peas in a fluff-lined pod.

~

It is not even dawn yet when Loki nudges Thor awake.

Thor curls into him with a soft moan; it is too early to get up and too early for breakfast, so he noses at the nape of Loki’s neck, seeking his warmth in the cool air of early morning. Perhaps if he nuzzles Loki long enough, Thor can convince him to stay abed a moment longer.

Loki turns and quickly places his hand over Thor’s mouth, an unspoken, age-old gesture that he needs Thor to be silent—which is when Thor hears the hoarse, dry moans of the draugar. Their telltale death rattle and mindless clicking of teeth. Loki motions toward the door with his eyes, and it strikes Thor then that the creatures are _just outside_. 

A _thud_ sounds against the door, followed by an assortment of shuffling, shambling sounds. The draugar must have broken through the fortifications and barriers that Thor and the other Avengers had erected to hold the lower floors. By now, the main lobby is likely overrun.

Thor looks to Loki for guidance, as stealth has always been Loki’s forte. They could throw open the doors and kill the draugar that have gathered outside, but with no of way of knowing just how many are out there, they could soon be outnumbered. He summons Mjölnir regardless, reassured when she leaps into his hand. 

“Loki?” he whispers desperately, breaking the silence. Loki glares at him and tightens his hand over Thor’s mouth. The sound of hoarse moaning and thudding decreases, and for one glorious, foolish moment, Thor thinks they can fight their way out of the room and warn the others, perhaps even hold the breach.

He is just about to suggest it, when the door splinters inward, and a horde of draugar pour into the room, swarming toward them on the bed.

Without warning, Loki slips his arms around Thor’s waist and _twists_ them away, as if he has pinched together the very edges of the fabric of reality and folded them to a place elsewhere. They land in a tangled heap of arms and legs in the room where Clint and Natasha sleep. All of the Avengers sleep in groups now: Clint with Natasha, Steve, Tony and Bruce together, and of course Loki with Thor. 

Thor rights himself quickly, untangling himself from his brother. “My friends,” Thor whispers as loudly as he dares, shaking Natasha’s shoulder, “we must go.” Loki simply jabs Clint in the chest, startling him awake.

Natasha blinks groggily. “Okay, this trumps all the weird dreams I’ve ever had.” She lifts a perfect brow. “I never thought I’d dream of you and Loki being naked.”

Thor blinks back, confused, just as Loki huffs a sigh, and mutters something that sounds like _priorities_ , before conjuring a set of clothes as close to their full armour as he can for Thor and himself. 

They do not tarry for long; by the time Clint and Natasha have grabbed their weapons, Loki is already impatiently shepherding them to the room of the last few Avengers. 

“So you’re saying we just have to up and run?” Tony whispers, when Clint relates the danger of their abode now. “We’re talking about leaving our home—our _everything_.” He rakes a hand through his hair. “You’re sure about this?”

Clint jerks a thumb in Thor and Loki’s direction. “They are.”

Loki nods. “I have sent out duplicates of myself to survey the tower. With the exception of the laboratory and the top two floors, the tower has been overrun.” He pauses, before his haughty demeanor drops, and he hunches his shoulders, as if curling in on himself. “I—I am sorry, I was too preoccupied with—I was tending to—” Loki stops and says frankly, “I let the wards drop. The fault is mine.” His voice cracks oddly on the last word, as if bordering on a sob. 

Steve lays a hand on Loki’s shoulder, kind. “You were worried about your brother. It happens. Besides, we wouldn’t have lasted this long without you.”

Thor slips his arm around Loki’s waist, stroking careful fingers along his side to soothe. “The fault lies with no one, Loki.”

They all look toward Tony, because he is the one who has housed them through all of this, has come up with the zany schemes to forage for food and supplies, and is one half of their research division. He will come up with the plan for their extrication, or have the final say on what they will do. 

To their surprise, Tony has no plan. 

He rests against the wall, sliding down until his knees touch his chin. “Well, so much for the last stand here and all. Thanks, guys; Scouts camp’s been fun, but the bears have stormed the camp.” He laughs, a bitter, hollow sound in which Thor can read volumes of heartbreak and loss, and in truth, this blow must hit him harder than most, because the tower is _his_ , was _his_ home before it was theirs, and he starts forward to offer words of comfort. Steve and Bruce, however, are well ahead of him.

“What now?” asks Tony, holding his head in his hands. For once, it terrifies Thor, to see Tony, the one who has all the answers, all the flippant but workable ideas, at a loss.

Steve and Bruce have each rested a hand on Tony’s shoulders. “If we need to, we’ll bring the fight to them,” says Steve, squeezing Tony’s shoulder.

“But first we’ll need to prepare our arsenal,” nods Bruce. “And salvage what we can of the research we’ve made headway into.” He prods at Tony’s knee. “Remember how far we’ve gotten? How we’re _this_ close to figuring out a way to use the apples?”

Tony sucks in a breath. “Yeah. Yeah, okay.” He closes his eyes. “I guess we could—yeah.” When he opens his eyes, he gives Bruce a weak, watery smile. “You’re right. We’re so _close_. If we give up now—everyone’s screwed, right?”

“That’s right,” nods Bruce. “It’s up to us to figure this out. You’re with us, aren’t you?”

“Yeah,” Tony says, rolling his shoulders, as if he is working himself up toward something. “ _Yeah_.”

Thor beams at Tony, and kneels down to meet his eyes. “We will make it through this,” he says. “Together.” He stands and offers Tony a hand, which Tony reaches for gratefully, and hoists him to a standing position. 

“Together,” Tony nods, breathing in deep again, steeling his resolve. When Loki’s back is turned, Tony winks at Thor and thumps him on the back. “It’s good to have you back, by the way,” he whispers, conspiratorially. “Loki’s a scary little shit when you’re down for the count.” 

Thor frowns; he thinks it ironic that for all he had been terrified he would lose Loki, _he_ was the one who had nearly left Loki alone. 

As if he has sensed Thor’s tumultuous thoughts, Loki turns to touch fingers to Thor’s elbow, gentle. At the contact, Thor remembers that they are both still here, they are both still alive and they will make it through this, _together_.

~

Bruce herds Tony to the laboratory to gather what they can of their research, while the others fan out to still-safe rooms to hunt for provisions for their journey.

“There’s a small, independent lab I used to work at,” Bruce had said, before they spread out to gather supplies. “It’s unlikely to have been broken into by the draugar, mainly because it’s below ground. Tony and I can continue our research there, and there’s plenty of room for all of us.”

His words are like a beacon of hope, giving them focus. A goal. 

In the next half-hour after, Loki spells all their bags to remain lightweight but to hold more than they physically can, and Thor and the others busy themselves with trying to pack what provisions they can from areas not overrun by the draugar. Thor grabs bottles of water, sliding them carefully and soundlessly into a pack, while Loki slips dried foods and non-perishables into his. 

When Natasha and Clint move onto loading up on ammunition and readying their arsenal, Thor makes sure Mjölnir is hitched securely to his belt. He is never far from her these days. 

Tony gathers his suit of iron into a small metal case. Thor has been informed numerous times that it is actually made of a gold-titanium alloy, but Tony stopped pointing it out when Thor once called him Gold-And-Titanium-Alloy Man, agreeing once and for all that ‘iron’ was so much _simpler_. He will likely rig a charging unit or power supply where they are headed, or ask Thor to charge it through Mjölnir’s power. Steve joins them with his own pack, armed with his armor and shield. 

When they are ready to set out, Loki casts a spell of invisibility over them, alongside spells meant to mask their movement and smell from the draugar. Thor is about to ask for an additional spell for Natasha and Clint, before remembering they still have an extra layer of protection in the amulets from Frigga. During the gathering of supplies, they told Thor they had tried to return the amulets to Loki, so that he and Thor could use them, but Loki would have none of it. 

Thor smiles at the thought. Smiles at Loki. 

Loki scowls back. _Focus_ , he seems to say. 

They all move as one entity, making their way down the emergency staircase, winding their way through the clusters of draugar stumbling aimlessly between floors. Bruce leads them to the little-used entrance of the Avengers tower, where delivery trucks used to unload their wares, taking care to remain quiet. He presses the door open carefully, all of them waiting with bated breath for a sound—a creak or telltale squeak of the door—to give their location away and set the horde of draugar on them. 

It opens with a soft _swish_ that does not draw the attention of the draugar, and Bruce herds them out quickly before closing the door just as gently. 

As soon as Thor exits the tower, he catches up with Loki, slipping one hand into his. Loki glowers at him, as if to reprimand him about the foolishness of not having both hands free, in case of attack, before giving in and tightening his fingers around Thor’s. The other Avengers follow suit, and in no time at all, they all form what Tony will later term the “Kindergarten Buddy System”. Clint links hands with Natasha, while Tony loosely clutches Bruce’s shirt. Steve twists trembling fingers into the hem of Tony’s sweatshirt. 

The conglomerate of Bruce-Tony-Steve leads the vanguard forward, winding through back alleys and narrow streets, taking care to avoid the draugar where they can. Thor watches old, tattered newspapers flutter by as they creep through the streets. Maneuvers around vehicles abandoned by the sides of the road, some even in the middle of the thoroughfare, as if their owners had simply left the vehicle mid-journey and never come back. 

It is incredibly silent, so unlike New York with its usual lively hustle and bustle, that it makes something churn uncomfortably in Thor’s stomach. This is not the Midgard he had grown to love, and he feels bereft at the loss of its people, the Midgardians who always did so much with the time they were allotted.

_Yes_ , Thor thinks, as he looks at his teammates, unflinching in their own resolve. _I will do anything I can to help them._

He is startled out of his thoughts by Loki’s tug on his hand. _Look_ , Loki motions with his head, and points. 

Piles of burnt bodies litter the streets, blackened and charred, the remnants of bonfires that had sputtered out. Loki prods at what looks like a mass of bone and ash with a stick, and a mottled grey arm springs out of the pile, limp; these are the remains of reanimated corpses, these small hills remnants of their broken flesh. Made when there were still more people than _them_ to make bonfires. 

Bruce turns to looks behind him as they trudge past the piles of smoking flesh. _Not much farther_ , he mouths, motioning at their destination with his head.

They follow him to a manhole obscured by two tall buildings. Draugar mill about at the mouths of the street, but thankfully, none have wandered into this junction between the buildings. 

Tony gestures frantically, pointing to the manhole cover. _How are we going to lift that without a ton of noise?_

With a smile, Bruce lifts the cover soundlessly. Instead of metal, it is a small, plastic hatch disguised to look like a manhole cover. He ushers them all down the sturdy metal ladder, before following them in and closing the hatch. Leads them through a labyrinth of tunnels, and crank doors fitted with extra latch handles and deadbolts.

“Here we are,” Bruce says finally, reaching out into what seems like a dark gloom, and pulling a chain, bathing the entire chamber in muted, white-green light.

“Wow,” breathes Steve. “Just. _Wow_.”

There are several grand archways set into the structure of the chamber. Each is supported by thick columns of not-quite brick, some spiraled into beautiful, twisting shapes, while others are marred with sharp, jagged edges, or wicked spikes. Upon closer inspection, Thor notices that the supporting columns are engraved with runes, but these are not runes that Thor knows. 

He touches his fingers to the archaic architecture. The design of their abode does not follow any laws of geometry that he knows, and he sees Loki eyeing it curiously as well. Mortar crumbles slightly at his touch, skittering over his fingers, but the overall masonry appears impossibly strong. He wonders if Bruce had had this place built to withstand his prior transformations into the Hulk. Or more likely purchased the place, from zealots who worshipped strange gods, and made it his own. He will not question Bruce’s judgment, though; not when they have finally found a place to rest and regroup.

Tony, however, has other ideas. Questions.

“Where did you find this place?” asks Tony, nearly stumbling on some uneven stone steps. He looks up at the dusty light fixtures, wan fluorescents that flicker ominously, and eyes the _drip drip_ coming from pipes overhead. “It’s like it came straight from a Lovecraftian novel.”

“Well,” says Bruce, sounding rather put out, “when I said _independent_ lab, I meant _private_. And by private, I meant—” He adjust his glasses to perch just so on his nose. “It’s mine,” he huffs, finally. “I mean, it is _now_. I’ve made upgrades,” he adds, proudly. He spreads his palms to refer to the small touches and improvements he has made, from the added door locks to the presence of hand-cranked generators that provide their power. 

“Oh,” Tony blinks. He breaks into a grin that is much too wide to be genuine. “It’s a little subterranean, but it’ll do,” he nods approvingly. “Seriously though, are you hiding one of the Old Ones down here?”

Bruce casts his eyes toward the pipes, where a ceiling would be, in a gesture of exasperation. “The only ‘Old Ones’ here would probably be those two,” he says, pointing at Thor and Loki. “Now put what we have of the first-stage vaccines down on that lab bench over there. _Gently_. We have work to do.”

~

For now, Thor and the others ignore the ornate strangeness of the place, and settle into the smaller chambers that Bruce points them to. Loki sets up bedding with Thor’s help, drawing from Mjölnir’s own well of seiðr to transfigure rubble of what seem like ruins into rudimentary bed frames and mattresses.

Steve and Clint head out to scout the underground for a source of fresh water, while Tony and Bruce pore over their previous results. Natasha secures the perimeter, checking for vulnerabilities, though evidently she still feels edgy, walking the perimeter three times over.

“Thor,” Loki croaks, when he has finished transforming the last rubble into a bed. Thor catches Loki before his knees buckle beneath him, and scoops Loki into his arms without question. 

“My brother needs rest,” Thor explains, when Tony looks up from his work as they pass by.

“Oh, right. Yeah, you guys totally deserve it,” Tony nods. He tips Thor a wink. “Just make sure not to be too loud. Stuff really echoes down here, y’know?” 

Thor laughs softly. Loki is already dozing lightly in his arms, fatigued by the amount of energy and seiðr he has exhausted for the sake of Thor and his friends. “I shall remember that,” says Thor, “but Loki may be another matter entirely.”

He leaves Tony to make whatever assumptions he will as he carries Loki away, and true to form, Tony sputters after them, his face the hue of Midgard’s ripest tomatoes.

~

In the end, it only takes one errant comment from Tony for things to escalate out of proportion.

“Guess it’s kinda fitting that the vaccine for this draugar infection should be made in an underground research lab, huh?” he says, elbowing Bruce, when they are in the final stages of completing their vaccine. The dosage and makeup of the new vaccines have long since been recalibrated, to account for Loki’s earlier duplication of the apples. 

The others go very silent and still. “Why, exactly,” Bruce asks slowly, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, “would it be fitting?”

Tony blinks. “Oh,” he says sheepishly, “guess I dropped the ball on that one; we were sort of more preoccupied with looking for food at the time.” He looks to Thor and Loki. “Little help here, guys?”

Loki sighs. “He means that there is a kind of perverse poetry in the fact that the draugar infection itself was created in a lab, in much the same conditions as this one.” He goes on to relate the things he had seen when Fury sent him out to investigate a remote outpost where the infection had supposedly first broken out.

“Wait,” Steve says, “so you’re saying this whole thing, this massive catastrophe and all the—this is all SHIELD’s doing?”

Clint grits his teeth. “I always _knew_ there was something was weird about this.” 

Though Tony was the one who instigated this growing distrust of SHIELD, he is also the one to bring the situation back under control. “Look, I get it,” he says. “We don’t trust the powers that be anymore. But think of it like this: whatever we accomplish here, whatever we’ve done up until now, this is for the people. For mankind. We’re not doing this for SHIELD.”

“He’s right,” Steve says finally, after several moments of utter silence. “We’ve got nothing to gain by pointing fingers anyway. Let’s just get back to what we were doing.”

Later, Tony starts the first trials. They have a steady supply of mice in the underground, and so Tony injects a mouse with a sample of saliva rife with the draugar virus. Within a minute, he injects the same mouse with the vaccine he and Bruce seem to have perfected. 

They will know within an hour if the vaccine is effective. 

When the hour is up, they all find the mouse still sniffing and scratching curiously at its makeshift cage. 

By the time the day is over, the mouse is still very much alive, nibbling at a piece of jerky Bruce drops into its cage, its whiskers twitching as it shreds its food into edible strips.

When he’s finished inspecting the mouse for the last time that day, Tony drops all pretences and bounds over to hug Thor and Loki both. The others follow suit, enveloping them in various permutations of hugs, from awkward and one-armed to full-on, crushing embraces. 

“Thank you,” rasps Tony. “ _Thank you_.” There are tears in his eyes when he looks up.

“But your human trials have yet to—” Loki starts, before Thor pulls him close and silences him with a kiss. 

“Let them have this, brother,” Thor whispers, squeezing Loki’s shoulder. “They need it.”

Loki stops, and Thor notes the moment Loki really _sees_ , the desperation and relief both of their teammates, as he nods his agreement; their failures have been so many and close between, that each success is dear and must be cherished all the more.

~

It is not long, however, before Loki brings up the subject of human test subjects again. After all, a vaccine that is not utilized is, for the most part, useless.

“Good point,” Tony says. “Where _are_ we going to find a live human test subject for this? We can’t exactly waltz up to the surface and use a megaphone to call the humans to us. Or ask the draugar, ‘Excuse me, have you seen an unmauled human, with brains and internal organs preferably still intact?’” 

“How about me?” Steve suggests. “I’m a human experiment already. It couldn’t hurt to be one more.”

“How about _no_ ,” Tony replies instantly. “If things go south, the last thing we need is a draugr supersoldier on our hands.”

Thor thinks to suggest himself or Loki, but Aesir and Jötnar physiologies are likely affected differently by the course of this disease. Besides, Loki would only call him a self-sacrificing twit and have his hide for it. 

“I’ll do it,” says Natasha. She bares her arm and steps up to Tony. “If I turn, you guys shouldn’t have any trouble taking me out.”

“Nat, _no_. What are you _doing_?” Clint hisses. He bares his arm also and crowds closer to Tony. “Use me instead.”

“There you are, then,” Loki says, his smile grim. “You certainly have no dearth of volunteers.”

Tony and Bruce take extreme care in explaining the procedure to Clint, before strapping him down and sterilising his skin. Loki hums and nods thoughtfully as he listens, but there are terms Thor does not understand. Regardless, he nods when Loki nods, and throws in the occasional _hmm_ , maintaining a façade of comprehension until they are ushered out of the chamber to give Clint a moment of privacy. Clint will have a chance to say the things he needs to, to the people he wants to, before the virus is applied. The vaccine is to follow almost immediately after.

“Be honest,” Loki says, when they are back in their own chamber. The crude bedframe of stone does not creak under their weight, a fact Thor is thankful for when he takes Loki against it most nights. “Did you understand any of that?”

Thor’s throat dries as he speaks. “I—no,” he says, deflating a little. He is no fool, but even on Asgard, he left such matters as these to the healers. Thor turns to Loki, hopeful for an explanation, as Loki has long translated things into phrases he can understand. 

Loki touches the small of Thor’s back, reassuring. “Think of everything to be under the blanket term ‘science’,” he says. “In time, however, your mortals will call it nothing short of a ‘miracle’.”

“Ah,” says Thor. That, he _does_ understand, and together, he and Loki share a knowing smile.

“Now then,” Loki grins coyly, his hand dipping beneath the waist of Thor’s trousers. He trails clever, daring fingers over Thor’s cock. “Shall we engage in a pre-emptive celebration of the vaccine’s success?”

“You sound rather assured of success,” Thor frowns, stilling Loki’s hand. “We have yet to find proof it will even work. What if Clint—”

Loki flaps his free hand and huffs, exasperated. “It worked on you, did it not? Their vaccine will not be as potent, no, but it will serve for the Midgardians and their frailer bodies.”

“Oh.” Thor grins back, his expression equally hungry and sharp as he cups Loki’s cheek and surges forward to meet his mouth. “Then pre-emptively celebrate we _shall_.”

~

It is another month before Bruce and Tony can create enough of the vaccine to help a large batch of survivors, as their resources in Bruce’s lab are limited. Loki is responsible for replicating a large volume of the new apples, while Steve is relegated to filling the clean syringes they have on hand for injection.

Clint and Natasha are put in charge of scouring the city, and in their reconnaissance, find small pockets of survivors, holed in underground shelters and more rural homes where the draugar were fewer and farther between. When the vaccine is ready, he, Natasha and Steve travel by foot, with small kits, to inoculate the survivors against the virus. 

In time, Tony and Bruce start circulating more kits, instructing Thor and Loki in the art of giving vaccines. 

They use their status as Avengers to gain the people’s trust; it seems that their names are still worth something, at least. Both Thor and Loki traverse the city, tacking news bulletins regarding the vaccine to telephone poles, bulletin boards, broad spans of blank wall and shop windows. 

As a result, more and more people emerge from hiding, clustering in small groups at the locations advertised in the Avengers’ notices, for vaccination. 

“Does this really work?” asks a small child once, watching Thor with wide eyes. 

Loki is about to snap some form of _You hardly have a choice_ , when Clint cuts in, “Yeah. I got bitten by a drau—one of _them_ after I got it. And look at me.” He jerks a thumb toward himself, manages a feeble grin. “Still here. Still _me_.” 

The children end up flocking to Clint like small ducklings, pawing at his legs with their tiny hands for autographs and lifts into the air. And because they have won over the children, have given them a sliver of hope that brings the brightness and joy back into their eyes, the adults follow suit, and quickly. 

Thor would not have guessed Clint could become the poster boy for this new cure they are trying to promote. If anyone, he thought it would be Steve, known for being America’s beloved golden hero, but this is what it is. 

Their efforts draw the attention of SHIELD bases that had gone to ground when the disaster started, small clusters of agents who had survived in secret fallout shelters. Communications are re-established between different bases and though the Avengers are initially grudging in their cooperation, even they can see the need for SHIELD’s resources. Within several more months, the vaccines are being produced on an international scale, with agents and recruited survivors primed to spread the vaccine to less accessible areas. 

Thor feels a measure of hope when he hears on the one re-established radio network that the Midgardians have begun to fight back, not having to worry about falling ill when bitten by the infected. He does not yet know if other countries, other continents in Midgard have progressed as far as they have here, but what he _does_ know is that right here, in New York, the living are _taking back their city_.

And this, this is a start; the start of everything again, instead of the end.

~

“What are you looking at?” Loki asks, winding his arms around Thor’s waist from behind. He hooks his chin over Thor’s shoulder, watching as an organized group of people herd draugar into an old, half-destroyed building and bar them in, before methodically and permanently silencing each one. Others pile half-twitching corpses into the ruins of apartment buildings, before setting the structures ablaze. “Oh, I see,” Loki says drily. “I suppose your mortals _are_ a more welcoming vista than the draugar we have grown used to.”

“ _Loki_ ,” Thor chides gently. He rests a palm over the knot of Loki’s hands around him, warm from the sun’s early glow. 

They stand on the rooftop of a ruined skyscraper, overlooking Midtown Manhattan. Thor can see the Avengers tower from here, a home which he and the others, like most Midgardians, have plans underway to reclaim. 

“They are fighting back,” says Thor, as he watches the people below. It warms his heart so, to know that he has helped them in this fight to survive. “This is the spirit of the Midgardians that I know.”

“Yes, that ‘spirit’ you speak of will last quite some time, I think,” Loki says sourly, as Thor shifts out of Loki’s grasp and turns to envelope Loki in his arms. “There may be unnaturally long life in them because of the apples we made the vaccine from. Though,” Loki adds grudgingly, “I suppose they are a hardy race of people. Look at them: forced to become a warrior race to stave off elimination, with the product of seiðr flowing in their veins.” Loki stops suddenly, his eyes aglow with delight. “ _Oh_.” He laughs against Thor’s mouth, soft and low.

“What amuses you so, brother?” Thor asks.

“We have won,” Loki explains. His eyes are positively _gleaming_ with mirth now. “We have succeeded.”

Thor furrows his brow. “In what?” That they have helped his friends and their people stave off elimination, giving them the chance to thrive again is success enough, but there’s something else here, something Loki is eager to reveal, to demonstrate how _clever_ he’s been—

“Remaking the human race in our image,” Loki grins. “With your example of brute might and my seiðr, we have reforged this world. This is a world made new, by _our_ hands. ”

Thor sighs; he knows better than to argue over what Loki considers a victory. Instead, he pulls Loki close, against the wind that buffets them at this altitude, thinking to claim Loki’s mouth fully and thoroughly. But when Loki starts pressing a flurry of light, fluttering kisses to his cheeks and lips, Thor draws back, surprised.

“Oh?” Thor asks, smiling. “What are these for?”

“I don’t suppose your friends’ betting pool is still on, do you?” Loki says cheekily. “So that we may bet on ourselves and win?”

Thor laughs, and hitches Loki closer in his arms. “Not likely,” he says, pressing his lips firmly to Loki’s brow, once, twice, then kissing his mouth. Loki tastes of buttered syrup in fresh fallen snow, the flavours of Midgard’s coming winter, and Thor licks boldly into his mouth, unconcerned of the audience they may have. “But it does not hurt to try.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The lab mentioned in the latter part is a hybrid of the underground bunker in _Skyfall_ , seen **[here](http://i7.photobucket.com/albums/y283/slamduncan21/stuff%20to%20ul%20to%20sites/Skyfall2012BRRip720pH264-ETRGmp4_snapshot_002923_20131209_201309.jpg)** and concept designs of R'lyeh, found **[here](http://i7.photobucket.com/albums/y283/slamduncan21/stuff%20to%20ul%20to%20sites/Rlyehjpg_t400.jpg)** and **[here](http://i7.photobucket.com/albums/y283/slamduncan21/stuff%20to%20ul%20to%20sites/cthulhu_city_rlyeh.jpg)**.


End file.
